The Sins of Our Fathers
by Dndchk
Summary: Thirty-eight years after Remus Lupin was admitted to Hogwarts, another werewolf takes her place at the Gryffindor table. Despite the horrific bullying she goes through, she manages to graduate and score a spot as a trainee Auror… only to lose it when her secret is revealed. Devastated, she goes on a quest to hunt down the man that made her life a living hell: Fenrir Greyback.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello again, dear readers! Long time no see.

Fair warning, this story is labeled as an angstfic for a reason. By "angstfic", I mean "go as over-the-top-as-possible in torturing the character". This story is not going to have a happy ending. And as a heads-up, there is mention of depression and suicide, so if that's upsetting to you, you might want to turn back now.

Let's hope this attempt at fanfic goes better than the last.

* * *

The little girl turned another page, kicking her feet idly to keep the swing moving. Completely enthralled in the story, it wasn't until it started getting dark that she realized how late it was. Reluctantly, knowing dark meant bedtime, she shut the book and hopped off the swing, holding it protectively to her chest as she began heading back to the house.

A sudden rustling in the bushes made her freeze. Slowly, she turned around to see a very large man emerging from the bush. His hair was so matted and filthy its color was indiscernible, and he was wearing a very ratty trench coat. His feet were bare, and his fingernails were yellow and pointed.

"Well, hello there," he said, stepping smoothly between her and the door—between her and safety. He smiled; it was not a nice smile.

"I—I need to go home," the little girl said, swallowing away the dryness in her mouth. She edged sideways, trying to calculate her chances of making a break for it. The man simply repositioned himself so he was blocking her way. Screaming wouldn't help, she knew—her throat had closed up in terror.

The man crouched down so he was little higher than eye level with her. "Your daddy did a very bad thing, Caitlyn," he said. His breath reeked of rotten meat. "Did you know that?"

The little girl shook her head. "I—I'm not—n-not Caitlyn," she choked out. Caitlyn Rosenberger was her friend next door, and the two girls looked rather similar from a distance. Caitlyn's father and her own father were good friends—Mr. Rosenberger was visiting her dad to share brandy and stories that very night, in fact.

The man's lip curled. "If you're not, then where is she?"

The girl just shook her head. She wasn't about to tell this scary man where to find her friend.

It was dark out now, very dark. The man twitched slightly, and the girl took a step back.

"Well, it's too late to find her now," the man said. "Next month, then. You'll do for tonight." He reached out and trailed a single yellowed talon down the side of her face. "I haven't had a Muggle in several weeks. So soft and tender..."

The girl dropped her book and turned tail and fled, racing as fast as her little legs could carry her into the woods behind her house. She didn't get far before the man caught her by the arm, twisting it painfully. She screamed when she felt something snap, and he threw her roughly to the ground, planting one foot on her leg.

"Well, now that I have you, I can't let you go running away again, can I?" he said, pressing down hard. Harder. She screamed again, trying desperately to get away. She clawed at the ground with her good arm in a futile effort to drag herself out from under his foot as he tauntingly bit her on the ear.

Suddenly, a cloud shifted and moonlight filtered through the trees. The pressure on her leg lifted and she began crawling away, sobbing, too terrified to look back at the sounds of the man screaming, bones snapping and rearranging, muscles stretching with a wet ripping noise as the scream turned into a howl—

And then pain shot through her entire body when something seized her by the leg. She was dragged backwards by the enormous silvery wolf, bones crunching in its jaws even while it savaged her with its claws—

There was a sudden flash of light and a loud series of bangs and the wolf let go, snarling. Through the haze of pain, the little girl could barely make out the outlines of her father and Mr. Rosenberger running toward her. The bangs were coming from a long stick in Mr. Rosenberger's hand. The wolf snarled again before turning tail and fleeing into the night.

She blacked out.

* * *

When she came to, she could barely move. Her entire body was wrapped in bandages, and even if it hadn't been, she didn't think she could have gone far anyway. She hurt too much. Oh, _god_ , everything hurt. Not even the time she'd fallen out of the tree had left her hurting like this.

She whimpered and opened her eyes, and was seized by a brief moment of panic when she thought she'd been blinded in one eye, but then she realized half of her face had been bandaged, and she relaxed slightly. Only slightly.

"Mummy?" she tried to call, but her voice caught in her throat and she began coughing, sobbing as pain wracked her body with every movement.

The door opened and a voice said, "It's awake." She heard footsteps, and then her arm was grabbed roughly, holding her still. She tried to scream when she felt pain shoot up her arm, but no sound came out. Through the tears in her eyes, she could see the doctor—if he even was that—putting a long, thin stick in his pocket before consulting a piece of parchment. A wand, she realized. So this man was a wizard.

"Well, it's been stabilized," he said curtly, not even glancing at her as he spoke. The woman next to him nodded, biting her lip.

"We'll need to change out its dressings soon unless we want it to get an infection—"

The man shrugged. "Don't go to the trouble. There are other patients to be looked after. Besides, what's one less werewolf in the world? A Muggle isn't likely to survive as it is; I didn't even bother putting this one on the registry."

"Sir, that's illegal," the woman said. "If word got out that we—"

"It's not going to," the man said, and pointed the stick at the little girl. " _Obliviate_."

* * *

"Sweetie?" Mrs. Saibhir touched her daughter's face lightly. "Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

She groaned and opened her eyes to find herself back in her bedroom at home. "Mummy?" she said. Her voice was hoarse. "Mummy, w-what hap-p-pened, there was a man, and—" She began to tremble as the memories came rushing back to her.

Mrs. Saibhir carefully took one of her daughter's bandaged hands. "This… this is going to sound very strange, and I'm still getting used to it myself," she said slowly, "but… magic is real, and so are magical monsters, like… like werewolves."

The little girl just looked at her blankly.

"We thought magic wasn't real, but it is," Mrs. Saibhir tried again.

"Of course it's real," the little girl said, like it should have been obvious. "Caitlyn showed me."

Mrs. Saibhir was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Of course she did," she said, sighing. "So you already know about that… what do you know about werewolves?"

The girl was quiet for a long time. "Is that… is that what…?"

"It was," Mrs. Saibhir said softly. Tears began to drip down her cheeks and she gently placed a hand on her daughter's face, but pulled back when she hissed in pain. "You're going to transform every month… there isn't—there isn't a cure…"

She continued talking, but there was only one thing on the little girl's mind. "Will I be able to walk again?"

Mrs. Saibhir's face went carefully blank. "The… the Healers aren't sure," she said. "But I think if you focus on getting stronger, then yes, you can." She didn't want to crush her daughter's heart, especially considering how much she was already hurting. When she wasn't in so much pain, she'd find a way to gently break the news that there was a very good chance she'd never be able to walk again.

* * *

She perked up when her mother stuck her head around the door. "Caitlyn's here to see you," Mrs. Saibhir said.

She felt a small thrill go through her. Finally, something to distract her from lying in bed all day, unable to do anything but wonder if she'd ever be able to walk again. But when Caitlyn came into her room, her heart sank.

"Um," Caitlyn said, fear written all over her face. "Hi."

"Hi," she said hesitantly.

"Um," Caitlyn said again. "So… I… You're a—a—"

"Werewolf," she said, her voice quiet.

"Y-yeah, that," Caitlyn stuttered.

She remembered only too well how the Healers at St. Mungo's had treated her, and tears began dripping down her face. "Cait, please," she begged, "I'm still me, I just gotta be real careful every month, please don't—"

Caitlyn was shaking her head and backing away toward the door. "No, you're not," she said. "I can't be friends with you anymore 'cause mummy and daddy say you're a monster."

It was like being stabbed in the heart. She couldn't stop herself from sobbing when Caitlyn turned round and ran out of the room.

* * *

"Alright, how does that feel?" Mrs. Saibhir asked, carefully pulling the last bandage off her daughter's knee.

The little girl stared down at it, licking her lips. Her leg looked deformed; there was no kinder way to put it. The leg had very obviously been broken and reset in such a way that it had visibly healed _wrong_. Slowly, she sat up in bed and put her feet on the floor. She noticed that her injured leg was a bit shorter than the other now, and swallowed nervously. She glanced up at her parents, who were watching her with a mixture of anticipation and worry.

Slowly, she stood, putting weight on her good leg before hesitantly transferring it to her bad. Pain shot up her leg and she fell, her parents catching her just before she hit the floor.

"Just take it easy, then," Mr. Saibhir said, helping her back onto the bed. "Rest. You can always try again later."

She nodded, looking away. At the rate things were going, she wouldn't be surprised if she died of boredom before any of her wounds scarred over. Most of the bandages had been removed by now, though the ones on her face remained. She was almost glad of that, though; she was scared to see what she looked like.

* * *

Her heart was pounding as her father carried her from her bedroom to the basement, and she whimpered when she saw the chains that had been bolted to the wall and floor. She clung to her father's shirt, but she was still weak and couldn't get a strong enough grip to put up a fight when he carefully set her down and began locking her up.

"Daddy, please," she whispered.

He ducked his head, fighting back tears. "I'm sorry, baby, I wish there was some other way…"

"Daddy!" her head was pounding and her skin was beginning to itch horribly underneath her bandages; her wounds burned and she began to kick, screaming in terror and pain as she tore open scabs and jolted broken bones.

"Please, try to relax, you're hurting yourself!" Mr. Saibhir said, his fingers fumbling as he tried to restrain her without hurting her himself.

"DADDY!" she screamed, pulling against the chains as he backed away. "DADDY, NO, DON'T LEAVE ME HERE! PLEASE! DADDY! MUMMY! _HELP ME!_ "

Mr. Saibhir retreated up the stairs and locked the basement door, pulling his wife into a hug. She didn't cry, but she rested her head on his shoulder and stared unseeingly at the door, ears numb when the sounds of her daughter's screams transformed into howls.

* * *

"Well," Mrs. Saibhir said shakily when her daughter opened her eyes, "it could have been worse…"

She swallowed. "W-what happened?" she asked. She realized her fingers were numb, and didn't respond when she attempted to move them.

"You… you managed to break your wrist," Mrs. Saibhir said. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to regain her composure. "The bone sliced through the tendons. We're going to take you to St. Mungo's, just hang in there…"

She looked down at her arm, which was wrapped in a bloody towel. Her stomach twisted and she vomited, convulsing on the floor in a pool of her own blood. Mrs. Saibhir could only hold her daughter tight, stroking her matted hair and whispering words that were supposed to be comforting, but only came off as empty and emotionless.

Her little baby girl wasn't even yet five years old and already had experienced more pain than most adults would over a lifetime. But she didn't cry; she just slumped down, exhausted, and feebly said, "It hurts, mummy."

Mrs. Saibhir hugged her daughter and cried.

* * *

"Alright, sweetheart, let's see what you can do," Mrs. Saibhir said, and slowly let go of her daughter's hands, taking a few steps back.

She wobbled for a bit, keeping her weight all on one foot, before shifting painstakingly slowly to the other. Tears sprang to her eyes when pain shot through her knee once more, but she grit her teeth and determinedly took one step, then another, lurching forward until she grabbed hold of her mother's hands, exhausted from the effort.

Mrs. Saibhir picked her up and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm so proud of you, baby," she said, and Mr. Saibhir clapped from the doorway. "You did it, you did it when everyone was saying you can't—don't you ever listen to them again, do you hear me? You _walked_ , I don't care if it was just a few steps, you were so brave, you were…"

She just hugged her mother around the neck and closed her eyes, tuning out the praise. She was tired, but she didn't want to sleep. The nightmares might come back. She took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. The pain in her knee was sharp, but nothing compared to what she'd come to expect from the transformations.

Maybe next full moon she'd get lucky and bleed to death before her parents could do anything about it.

* * *

She pulled the last bandage away from her face. She took a deep breath and stared at the mirror, forcing herself to drink in every detail.

Four thick scars slashed across her face. One cut across her nose, leaving it looking off-center and crooked. One went down the side of her face and straight through her ear, which had been carefully, but inexpertly stitched back together by her own mother when the Healers at St. Mungo's refused to use "Muggle methods". One cut just above her eye, and the scar tissue was so large and thick that it forced her eyelid half-shut, no matter how much she strained to open it further. And the last one was a massive slash across her face, starting on her nose and leaving it, too, sloppily stitched back together, going down to the corner of her mouth and distorting it into an ugly frown, and ending on her jawbone.

The entire left side of her face had been sliced to ribbons and put back together by someone with no experience in healing, and she felt tears beginning to well up as she turned to the right, presenting her unblemished cheek to the mirror. If she just looked at that side, she could pretend she was normal, pretend that nothing had happened.

She could pretend. She was good at pretending.

She turned to face her full reflection in the mirror and kept herself composed for only a few seconds before she began to cry.

* * *

"Mummy?"

Mrs. Saibhir looked up from the newspaper to see her daughter standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on her crutches. "What is it, sweetie?"

She hobbled over and sat at the kitchen table, biting her lip, before pulling the towel off her head. She hadn't been able to bathe yet after her last transformation, and her bloody, tangled brown hair tumbled down around her shoulders, almost to her hips.

She loved her hair. She loved how keeping it long made her feel like a princess, how her mother used to brush it in the mornings before school while she was eating breakfast. She loved it when her mother did fancy braids, when she decorated it with flowers, when she rubbed it with balloons to make it stand on end despite its absurd length. She loved to hang upside-down from tree limbs and feel its weight tugging her to the ground.

But she hadn't been to school in months, she couldn't walk, let alone climb trees, and she never went outside anymore to see the flowers. She was too scared to go back into the garden, scared that the man might find them in their new house, and make good on his promise to eat her. They could barely afford enough food to eat now, let alone balloons for fun. Her medical bills finally caught up to them and they were barely getting by every day. Shampoo was expensive, and she used a lot of it. She used even more when her wounds finally healed enough for her to clean up.

"I want you to cut it off."

Mrs. Saibhir was quiet for a moment. "Sweetie, are you sure? Your hair is beautiful, it would be a shame to get rid of—"

" _Cut it off_ ," she repeated, biting her lip. "It just keeps getting in the way, it's messy, it stays bloody for days at a time and then it needs to have it all washed and brushed out and it takes hours to do that… cut it off. _All_ of it. _Please_ , mum."

Mrs. Saibhir cupped the back of her daughter's head for a moment before running her fingers through her hair. They caught in it several times, and came away red and sticky. "Alright," she said at last.

* * *

"Daddy!" the little girl looked up from her book, smiling when her father entered the room with a tray of food. "Daddy, did you know that there was a werewolf who was awarded an Order of Merlin?"

"I didn't," he said, sitting beside her and setting the tray down. "What's an Order of Merlin?"

"It's an award thingy that the wizarding government gives to people who did great things for the wizarding world," she said. "And his name was Remus Lupin! He died in the Battle of Hogwarts, fighting one of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters. He has a son, and Harry Potter, the man who defeated You-Know-Who, is his godfather." She showed her father the moving illustration, then turned the page of the book. "And it says here that the Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, is working on putting in new… leg-ish-lation, to make it so werewolves are treated better."

"That's very good of him," Mr. Saibhir said, running a hand over his daughter's head. Her hair was now so short she was nearly bald, and it pained him to see her reduced to a thin shell of her former vibrant self. She hardly ever got out of bed these days. "Maybe you should write to him and ask him to do something about those ars—those mean people at St. Mungo's."

She looked away. "That's stupid, daddy."

"Why's that?"

"Just because he says he wants to help doesn't mean he does," she said, and his heart broke at the cynical bitterness coming from his daughter's mouth. "Especially not for people like me."

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Saibhir sat on the couch together, holding hands as they tried to read their respective books and ignore the howls coming from behind the basement door.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Mrs. Saibhir asked anxiously, not for the first time.

"She'll be fine," her husband said, trying to reassure her as much as himself. "The night's almost over, she'll—" Both of them froze when they heard a terrible _CRACK_... like the chains holding their daughter down had been torn from the wall. Barely a moment later, there was a horrific pounding shaking the door. "Run!" Mr. Saibhir said, grabbing his wife's hand and racing upstairs with her. He ran to the closet and threw open the door to find the safe, fingers fumbling as he rushed to undo the lock.

From downstairs they heard the basement door splinter and the howl of the werewolf, then the pounding of paws as it began following their scent. Mr. Saibhir managed to get the safe open and grabbed the gun inside, loading it and aiming it at the door. Mrs. Saibhir picked up the bat beside their bed, swallowing down the lump in her throat and hoping desperately that they wouldn't have to kill their only child.

The instant the werewolf came into view, Mr. Saibhir fired. His aim was true, and the bullet lodged itself in the werewolf's spine. The wolf collapsed with a yelp, still trying to drag itself forward on its front paws.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Mr. Saibhir whispered, backing away. Mrs. Saibhir let out a quiet sob. The werewolf gave up on trying to drag itself forward and lay on the floor, whimpering, its eyes starting to dull as blood drained from the wound in its back.

Mrs. Saibhir took a hesitant step forward, only to jump backwards when the wolf once more snapped at her. Gathering her courage, she grabbed a pillow from the bed and approached the wolf again. When the wolf bit, she shoved the pillow over its face. Feathers flew everywhere, but the damaged pillow gave Mrs. Saibhir the chance to close her hands over the wolf's jaws, holding them shut. The wolf gave a piteous moan, and Mrs. Saibhir looked over at her husband. "Help me stop the bleeding," she ordered. "If she can survive until sunrise, we can take her to St Mungo's, get her healed again."

Mr. Saibhir nodded and grabbed a towel, hesitantly approaching the wolf. Seeing his wife had it safely restrained, he pressed the towel to the wolf's back. The wolf whimpered, front claws scrabbling uselessly against the wood floor.

The remainder of the night night passed in silence, broken only by the almost pitiable whines of the wolf.

Then the wolf screamed, beginning to writhe as the sun crept over the horizon. Mr. and Mrs. Saibhir could only move away and watch their daughter slowly transform back, screaming in pain all the while.

When it was over, their ten year old daughter slowly lifted her head. "M-mum?" she rasped, coughing. Blood dribbled from the corners of her mouth. "What—?" Her eyes went huge when she realized where she was. "I didn't—?!"

"We're fine, sweetheart," Mrs. Saibhir said, kneeling beside her daughter and pressing the towel to the wound on her back. "You... you managed to break out, but we're alright. Are you...?"

She coughed again, more weakly this time. "I, I, I can't feel my legs," she said. "Mum, dad, I can't…"

"We'll get you to St. Mungo's," Mr. Saibhir said, wiping his eyes. "Baby, I'm so sorry, I had to…"

She nodded and closed her eyes. "It's okay, dad," she said weakly. "I'm glad you... stopped... me…"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I promise the story becomes more continuous and less episodic in the later chapters.

* * *

When the doorbell rang, Mr. Saibhir answered it to find a very stern looking older woman in emerald green robes standing on the doorstep. "Can I help you?" he asked warily. She was obviously a witch, but nobody had visited their house before. Could she be here to take his daughter away?

The woman nodded. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. May I come in?"

"Hogwarts?" Mr. Saibhir repeated. "But my daughter isn't a witch."

"Our records say otherwise, Mr. Saibhir," Professor McGonagall said, giving him a small smile. "May I come in to speak with your family?"

Mr. Saibhir hesitated, but nodded, stepping aside. His wife appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel and giving the professor a cautiously hopeful look.

"Daddy? What's going on?" a little girl with shorn hair half-poked her head around the corner, looking shyly at Professor McGonagall. Her visible eye widened when she saw who it was. "Are you a witch, ma'am?"

"I am," Professor McGonagall said. "And I'm here to offer you a place at my school." She produced a letter from inside her robes and approached the little girl, holding out the letter. When the girl slowly came fully into view, McGonagall's expression didn't change, and the girl seemed more fascinated by that than by the letter.

The girl stared up at her for a moment before she reached out a shaking hand and took the letter, gazing disbelievingly at her name written in green ink. Instead of opening the letter, though, she looked back up at McGonagall. "Are you sure this isn't a mistake?"

"Have you ever made things happen that you couldn't explain?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Perhaps when you were upset or frightened?"

The little girl slowly shook her head, but Mrs. Saibhir's eyes widened slightly. "That one night," she said, looking at her husband. "When the china cabinet shattered—we thought it was an accident, but…"

Professor McGonagall nodded and looked back at the little girl. "And before you ask: the school is fully aware of your condition, and we are more than able to make arrangements for you. There is a potion you can take in the week leading up to the full moon that will allow you to keep your mind when you transform—"

"A potion?" Mrs. Saibhir said urgently. "Why weren't we told about this before?"

"It's very difficult to make, and expensive," Professor McGonagall said. She cast an eye around the tiny house and sighed. It strongly reminded her of Professor Dumbledore telling her of his visit to young Mr. Lupin's house almost forty years before, and she sighed again. No child should have to go through that. She cleared her throat and said, "But the school will be able to provide you as much as you need while you are in attendance… if you would like to go?"

"Yes!" the little girl cried, and threw her arms around McGonagall's waist before she could react. "Yes, yes, I'd love to!"

McGonagall patted her on the back for a moment before gently disentangling herself. "Miss Saibhir, I'd like to speak to your parents about arrangements for registration and supplies. You are more than welcome to join us."

"I'll make some tea," Mrs. Saibhir said quickly as her daughter let out a whoop and hobbled into the living room as quickly as she could. "Professor, do you have any requests?"

"Earl Grey would be lovely," McGonagall said.

* * *

She could hardly believe it; she was going to school, and not just any school! A school of _magic!_

Her stomach churned nervously when she thought of how Caitlyn would be in her year, but she pushed it away. She was going to _school_ , for the first time in her life. Sure, her parents had homeschooled her to this point, but now she was going to be with children of her own age! She could make new friends, explore a castle, learn _magic_ … and she would be able to transform every full moon without the worry of how many bones she would break overnight, if she would even live to see the next morning…

To say she was excited would be an understatement indeed.

"Excuse me?"

The girl hesitantly peered over the top of her book to see an older Ravenclaw boy looking into her compartment.

"Hey there, firstie. Can I sit here?"

"S-sure," she whispered, ducking back behind the book to hide. The boy put his cat's basket on the seat beside him and then held out a hand. "My name's Henry Fairfield." He mock-pompously puffed up his chest. "Allow me to be the first to officially welcome you to Hogwarts." Henry grinned and waggled his fingers. "C'mon, not gonna return the shake?"

She peeked back over her book and slowly extended a hand to him. Henry grasped it, but the smile on his face slipped when he felt the thick ridges of scar tissue on the back of her hand. "Oh, Merlin, what happened to you?"

She snatched her hand away and tucked it back inside her sleeve, sliding lower in her seat to better hide behind her book.

But even that sanctuary was torn away when Henry grabbed the top of the book and forced it down; whatever he'd been about to say was lost when he jerked back involuntarily as he got a look at her face, covered with twisted, huge, disfiguring scars in the unmistakable shape of claw marks, that forced one eye half-shut and the corner of her mouth down in a permanent frown. "Y-your…"

She ducked her head, unable to bear the way he was staring at her, speechless.

There was a long silence in the compartment, broken only occasionally by her quiet, hiccuping sobs.

"I, uh, I think I'll go find another compartment, actually," Henry said at last, fumbling around until his fingers found his cat's basket. Face redder than a tomato, he snatched it up and disappeared out the door, robes whipping behind him.

She quickly shut the compartment door and locked it before huddling on her seat and hugging her good knee to her chest, dread settling into her stomach at the thought of how her future dorm mates would react.

* * *

When the train pulled into the station at Hogsmeade, she stood up and limped to the door, joining the crowd of students and keeping her head down so they wouldn't get a good look at her face.

Over the noise of chattering students, she heard a deep voice yell, "Firs' years this way!"

She looked up and saw an absolute giant of a man, carrying a lantern and waving at the crowd. "Firs' years!" he called again.

She began making her way over to him, but something hooked around her ankle and she tripped, sprawling on the ground. Caitlyn passed her, looking confident and poised and so put-together, with a small, smug smile on her face. "Oops," she said, making sure to step on her ex-friend's fingers as she left.

Her face burned in anger and humiliation, and she struggled to her feet, moving with the strange lurching, skipping motion she'd developed to move at a quicker pace. She had to catch up to the other students before she got left behind, she couldn't afford to—

Mercifully, the small crowd of students had stopped at the entrance to a dark path, huddled around the bearded man and looking up at him expectantly.

"Righ', I think that's everyone," the man said, his eyes crinkling in a smile when he saw the last few stragglers approaching. "Mind yer step! Firs' years, this way!"

If the other students found the muddy path difficult to navigate, it was downright treacherous for the little girl, and she began falling farther and farther behind. When she finally lost her footing and went sliding, Caitlyn and one of the girls beside her didn't even bother to muffle their laughter. The man stopped and looked back, frowning, and stomped through the crowd of students, who parted for him like the Red Sea.

"Yeh alrigh' there?" he asked, holding out a massive hand. The little girl stared at it for a moment, then hesitantly grasped it and he pulled her to her feet, attempting to brush the mud off the front of her robes and instead smearing it everywhere. "C'mon, wouldn't do fer yeh ter show up at Hogwarts lookin' like that," he said. "Up yeh get, now."

Before she could even protest, he'd picked her up and set her on his broad shoulders, one hand holding her in place and the other gripping his lantern. He stomped back to the front of the group and toward a bend in the path. "Yeh'll be able ter see Hogwarts in jus' a sec here…"

The girl gasped, her fingers tightening in the man's hair as the castle came into view. She stared up at it, breathless.

"It's so pretty," she whispered, and the man glanced up at her.

"Innit, though?" he said quietly to her. "Yer goin' ter love it here."

As the other students 'ooh'ed and 'ahhh'ed at the sight of the castle, the man took advantage of the distraction to say, "Professor McGonagall told me ter keep an eye on yeh. Said yeh might have trouble gettin' here. Me name's Hagrid, by the way."

The girl ducked her head, mumbling a response. She didn't know if Hagrid heard her or not, but his shoulders shook with laughter. "Don' worry about anythin', yeh hear? The teachers are goin' ter look out fer yeh, and that includes me." He raised his voice to the rest of the students. "Righ', there'll be time ter look later. Let's keep it moving!" He stumped off down the path to the edge of the water, where a small fleet of boats was waiting. "No more'n four to a boat!" he called, gently removing the girl from his shoulders and setting her in a boat. She gulped when Caitlyn joined her, and scooted away as far as she could. Caitlyn, however, scooted with her, and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Don't think just because we haven't seen each other in years means I've forgotten about you," she said. "I'm not allowed to tell anyone about your little _secret_ , but I can certainly drop enough hints to let people guess. And if you think you can just come to Hogwarts and go ruining what are supposed to be the best years of _my_ life, you're _wrong_." She pulled away and gave a very sweet smile as the boats began to move forward, then leaned over and whispered something to her two friends, who giggled.

As the boats reached the middle of the lake, Caitlyn and one of the other girls suddenly grabbed her and threw her overboard. Her scream was swallowed as she sank below the water, thrashing under the weight of her sodden robes. Thanking her lucky stars her parents had made sure she was still able to swim even with her bad leg, she managed to kick to the surface and cling to the side of the boat, where to her surprise, Caitlyn's friends reached over to pull her in.

"Everythin' alrigh' back there?" Hagrid yelled, peering in their direction.

"Someone fell in, but she's okay!" Caitlyn called back, barely-contained laughter in her voice.

Of course. They were just pretending to rescue her so they wouldn't get in trouble. She huddled against the side of the boat, shivering and doing her best not to make eye contact.

"Heads down!" Hagrid called as the boats reached the ivy-covered cliff. The boats glided silently into an underground harbor and the students climbed out, following Hagrid up a path to Hogwarts' lawn and to the massive oak front doors.

Hagrid knocked, and the door was opened by a young man with a round face. "Thanks, Hagrid," he said, smiling. "I'll take them from here."

Hagrid nodded and stepped past him, his footsteps echoing through the entrance hall long after he'd disappeared through a door.

The first years looked expectantly at the man, who directed his smile at them and motioned for them to follow him. He led them through the entrance hall and into a side chamber, where they shuffled together, looking around anxiously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts!" the man said from the front of the room. "I'm Professor Longbottom, Herbology teacher and Head of Gryffindor house. Before the start of term banquet can begin, you'll be sorted into your houses. The Sorting Ceremony is important because—are you okay?"

The students turned to look at the girl in the back, shivering and standing in the puddle of water dripping off her robes.

" _Lie_ ," Caitlyn muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

"I j-just fell in the l-lake on the way here," the girl stuttered, shrinking away from the other students' stares.

Professor Longbottom pulled out his wand and pointed it at her; she flinched, but he gave it a flick and her robes dried instantly. He put his wand away and continued speaking, but the girl barely heard what he was saying. She was too focused on the way students kept glancing at her, at her face, at the scars that marked her as so _different_.

Professor Longbottom left the room and the students burst into chatter, most of them worrying out loud how the Sorting would be conducted, but a few conversations stood out to the girl's ears.

"Merlin, did you see her _face?_ It looks like she was mauled by a dog!"

"Do you think her parents did that to her?"

"Must be Muggleborn, there's no way the Healers would let someone leave looking that ugly."

"Well, I hope she's not in _my_ house; imagine waking up to _that_ every day."

She just hunched her shoulders and leaned against the wall, doing her best to stay out of everyone's way.

It was a relief when Professor Longbottom returned and led the students to the Great Hall. Her eyes widened when she saw the ceiling, the floating candles, the ghosts floating around the hall—she turned her head this way and that, trying to take in every detail. It was like Diagon Alley all over again, there was so much to see.

They stopped in front of the head table, staring at the stool before it. On top of the stool was perched an old, frayed hat. Silence fell over the hall when the hat began to move, and then it burst into song. She listened in amazement, more at the fact that there was a singing hat than anything else, but at the same time, her mouth had gone dry as she listened to the Hat describe the different houses.

The Hat finished its song and bowed, and the Hall burst into applause. Professor Longbottom unrolled a long piece of parchment, cleared his throat, and said, "Bennett, Adam!"

Her mind seemed to have gone numb. Hardworking? Ambitious and sly? Intelligent? Brave? Where was the house for the chronically terrified?

She was jolted out of her reverie when Professor Longbottom called her name, and, her hands shaking, she limped to the front of the Hall and sat down on the stool. The Sorting Hat fell over her eyes, and she gasped when she heard a voice in her head.

"Interesting," the Hat said. "I haven't seen one of you in decades."

 _One of what?_ She wondered wildly.

"Werewolf," the Hat said, and she flinched. "Don't worry, you're the only one who can hear me. Now… where should you go? You're certainly very bright; how much did you research when you found out the magical world was real?"

She shot a frightened glance towards the Ravenclaw table, where Caitlyn was sitting, watching her with narrowed eyes.

 _Please, put me anywhere, send me home, just don't put me in the same house as her,_ she begged.

The Sorting Hat paused, and she wondered what, exactly, entailed 'looking inside your head'.

"No," the Hat decided after a moment. "I think I know a better place for you. You came here despite the way the magical world has treated you in the past, and you refused to tell that man where to find your friend—"

 _She is_ not _my friend!_ she thought fiercely, and the Hat chuckled.

"Maybe not now, but you were willing to do what you had to do to protect her. If that isn't showing bravery, I'll eat myself! Very well then—GRYFFINDOR!" it shouted to the rest of the Hall. The Gryffindor table burst into applause and Professor Longbottom pulled the Hat off her head, and she lurched her way to the table and collapsed in a seat.

* * *

The feast was magnificent, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to eat until she was full. Her stomach was aching by the time dessert came, but she couldn't help stuffing herself with as much food as she could. By the time the feast was over and a prefect came to show the first years to the Gryffindor common room, she felt like she might be sick from all the food she'd eaten.

It didn't exactly help matters, either, when they climbed staircase after staircase, and she was forced to abandon all pretense of normality and start going up the stairs on all fours like a dog, using her hands and good leg to push herself along at a quick enough pace to keep up with the others. It drew stares and several of the students whispered to each other, but she was more scared of getting left behind to sleep in the corridors.

They reached a portrait of a fat woman in a pink gown, and the prefect gave the password when prompted. Talking portraits didn't come as a surprise to her; there had been several in St. Mungo's, after all. She scrambled through the portrait hole after the others and relaxed slightly when she found herself in what had to be the coziest room imaginable. The prefect directed the girls and boys to their dorms, and she and her new housemates climbed the stairs. She pretended not to hear the other girls giggling at her as she went up on all fours again.

She found her trunk at the foot of one of the beds and sat down, glad that there were curtains around the four-posters that she could use to change in privacy. If they thought her face was ugly, she couldn't bear the thought of them seeing her bare arms… or back… or legs…

"So, what _did_ happen to you?" Jessica demanded, sitting on her own bed. "Like, everyone's been wondering."

Her breath caught in her throat and she stammered for a moment before saying, "I was… my neighbor's pit bull…"

"Oh." Denise rolled her eyes at Jessica. "See? Nothing dramatic. I _told_ you her parents didn't do it."

"She could be lying," Jessica said. " _Are_ you lying?"

"No!" Her face was starting to turn red. "Stop asking me about it! Even if I was lying, I certainly wouldn't tell _you!_ " She yanked her curtains shut around her as Jessica muttered, "Bitch."

Too embarrassed to show her face again to get her pyjamas from her trunk, she stayed huddled on her bed in her robes, hands over her ears so she wouldn't have to listen to her housemates' laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

She woke early the next morning and made it downstairs before the other girls even stirred, getting lost several times on her way to the Great Hall before she arrived to find breakfast already on the tables. Her mouth watered and she sat down, helping herself to waffles and strawberries. She looked up, cheeks bulging, when Professor Longbottom approached and tapped her on the shoulder.

"May I talk to you?" he said quietly. She swallowed and nodded, and got up to follow him. To her surprise, he made an effort to keep pace with her as he led her out of the Great Hall and into the side chamber from the night before. He shut the door behind them and cleared his throat.

"Professor McGonagall informed the staff about your condition," he said, and gave her a small smile when she flinched. "Don't worry—if anyone tries to make trouble for you, let me know. One of my favorite professors as a kid was a werewolf, too, and he was one of the best people I've ever met."

She nodded and felt her eyes beginning to sting; she sniffled and wiped her eyes, and he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Madam Pomfrey's the school nurse and she'll make sure to take care of you before the full moon," Professor Longbottom said gently. "You'll have to go to the Hospital Wing every day for a week before the full moon to take your potion, and on the night of, she'll let you stay in her office so nobody finds you. It's on the first floor just off the Grand Staircase; if you don't know how to get there, one of the older students can show you."

"Thank you," she whispered, and he patted her shoulder before withdrawing his hand.

"Anyway, I think that about covers it," he said, and handed her a piece of parchment. "This is your schedule; I'll be seeing you in my class later this afternoon. I hope you like plants."

"They're nice," she said, her voice still soft, and was rewarded with a smile.

"You take care," he said, and left. She waited for a moment, trying to regain her composure and failing when she promptly burst into tears. She was so unused to people other than her parents treating her like a person, and here was Professor McGonagall, and Hagrid, and now Professor Longbottom…

After she'd finished crying, she sniffled, wiped away her tears, and looked down at the schedule. Defense Against the Dark Arts… that sounded interesting. Smiling to herself, she carefully folded her schedule and put it in her bag before limping to the Great Hall.

She took her time savoring her breakfast, but her good mood was ruined when Caitlyn and her friends entered the Hall and made a beeline for her seat. She froze when Caitlyn leaned in. "So, how was getting to the dorms last night?" she said, smiling. "I hope you didn't find all those stairs to be too hard to climb."

Her heart was pounding and she shook her head.

"I heard from Jessica you had to go up on all fours," Caitlyn continued, one hand playing with the goblet of pumpkin juice on the table. "Like a dog, or…" She leaned in and whispered, "like a _wolf_."

Her mouth had gone very dry at this point and she swallowed.

"So, tell me," Caitlyn continued, sitting at the table beside her, "how did you enjoy your little swim last night?"

"I—I liked it very much," she whispered, knowing that backtalking would just make things worse.

Caitlyn patted her on the head and smirked. "Well, if you liked it so much, maybe I should recreate it for you." Without even looking at the goblet, she tipped it over, and its contents spilled all over the Gryffindor's lap. Caitlyn laughed and motioned for her friends to follow her to the Ravenclaw table.

She sat there, staring down at her pumpkin juice-soaked food, trying to ignore the cold wetness seeping through to her skin. This was nothing, this didn't even hurt, it was just a bit of juice, she wasn't going to cry, she wasn't going to give Caitlyn the satisfaction, she wasn't going to cry she wasn't going to cry she wasn't going to cry…

* * *

It was three weeks into the first term when she had to report to Madam Pomfrey for her first transformation of the year. The nurse was strangely quiet as she waited outside the office for her patient to undress, then wordlessly came in with the goblet of Wolfsbane.

She gulped it down as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the awful taste and mostly succeeding. She swallowed several times in an attempt to get rid of the taste, and tugged closer the blanket that was draped around her body. "Is it gonna hurt?" she asked quietly, praying the answer would be no.

Madam Pomfrey sat on the bed beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It is," she said softly. "But it will be just the transformations, and you'll be able to sleep through the night. I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do."

She nodded and closed her eyes; she could already feel the headache starting to build up. "You should probably go," she said as her skin began to crawl. "It… it's not pretty to watch."

Madam Pomfrey took her hand. "If you would prefer to have company, then I will stay," she said. "It's the least I can do for you."

"You've already done enough. Please. Just go."

Madam Pomfrey hesitated, unwilling to leave when she saw how much pain and fear the little girl was hiding behind her eyes, but she had to respect her patient's wishes. "Very well," she said, squeezing her hand before letting go and standing up. "I'll be here all night if you need anything."

She didn't say she wouldn't be able to speak while transformed, so it was pointless to offer, but she just nodded and curled up on the bed, naked under the blanket, and shivering at the thought of what awaited her. What if the potion didn't work and she got loose in Hogwarts?

She swallowed, but the moon was already beginning to rise. Fur erupted from every inch of her skin, nails elongated, teeth ripped through gums as they sharpened and turned into fangs. She screamed as her internal organs burned, rearranging themselves, bones snapping and reforming, spine stretching. Her screams turned into a long, drawn-out howl, and she convulsed on the bed, claws ripping through the sheets. But her mind wasn't on fire like it normally was, and she slowly pushed herself to her paws when it was over.

She looked down at herself in amazement. She was seeing her transformed body for the first time that she could remember, she was unchained, but most importantly, _she knew who she was_.

She let out a bark of laughter and jumped off the bed, padding to the window of the office and putting her front paws on the sill. Overhead, the full moon shone, bright and cold, and she'd never seen a lovelier sight.

For the first time in years, she would be able to sleep while she waited for the moon to set, and she jumped back on the bed, grabbing the edge of the blanket in her teeth and pulling it over her. Just because she'd gotten used to her parents seeing her naked after a transformation didn't mean she had to like it. She closed her eyes and just listened to the sound of her own breathing until she fell asleep.

Of course, she was awoken several hours later as the sun came up, bringing with it another painful transformation. To say it was an unpleasant wake-up call would be an understatement, but she grit her teeth and forced herself to not scream, though she ended up making a long, continuous, high-pitched whine until she was left shivering under the blanket.

The door creaked open and a rather frazzled, but happy-looking Madam Pomfrey poked her head in. "Hello," she said softly, approaching the bed and tugging the blankets a little higher. "I hope the night went well for you."

"It… it wasn't… awful," she said wonderingly.

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "I'm very glad to hear that," she said.

* * *

As she hobble-climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor dormitory, she practiced what she was going to tell her classmates. She'd had an upset stomach, and Madam Pomfrey had kept her overnight for supervision. Easy enough to tell, easy enough to remember.

She scrambled through the portrait hole and made her way across the common room to the girls' staircase, yawning. She _really_ needed to catch up on the sleep she'd lost by screaming in pain.

Barely two stairs up, though, the staircase let out a klaxxon wail and flattened itself, sending her sprawling backwards on the floor below. The common room went quiet, save for the alarm, which eventually resolved itself and the stairs reverted to normal. She slowly sat up, face burning when a whisper of laughter ran around the room.

"Hey, I didn't know we had a tranny this year!" one boy called, and the rest of the common room burst out laughing. She scrambled away and hid behind one of the armchairs, wrapping her arms around her knees and hiding her face against her legs.

 _His_ knees?

 _His_ legs?

She hadn't really put much thought to the little niggling feeling in the back of her mind; it was just something that _happened_ , not something she ever thought about much until just now.

But even as the other kids laughed and went back to their homework, she turned the new information over in her mind.

 _His_ mind.

As he thought the word to himself, he nodded. It made sense, hearing it like this. It finally put words to that funny little feeling he sometimes experienced. So 'he' made sense for now, but he hoped he'd be able to go back to his dorm soon. His books were up there, after all, and he didn't yet know any summoning spells. And he didn't like the little looks the students were starting to give him.

* * *

By the time she was a _she_ again and could get up to her dorm, it was late and she was itching to do her homework until she fell asleep, but it seemed like her dorm mates had different ideas.

When she reached her dorm, she stood in the door, staring in horror at how her trunk had been turned over, its contents strewn about the room, her clothes turned inside-out, and the scarf… the beautiful scarf her mother had made for her, the only Christmas present she'd gotten last year, was trampled and covered in muddy footprints. Inkwells had been upended on her books, which had been laid open on top of her bed. The quilt was now stained with the ink that dripped off the pages of magic textbooks, for which her family had gone hungry just to buy them second hand…

Trembling, she looked up at Jessica, Denise, Alisha, and Tina, who were either ignoring the mess and pretending not to look at it, or smirking openly at her.

"What?" Jessica said innocently when her fists clenched. "I mean, we didn't exactly want to share our room with a _boy_ ; we had to be sure."

" _Why?_ " she managed to say, but she wanted to ask, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

Jessica folded her arms. "Well, Caitlyn told us what happened when you were kids," she said, and the girl's breath hitched in her throat. "How you and she were best mates, how she told you all about magic, and then you broke things off, called her a witch, a monster, a freak—"

 _No! No, that's not what happened, tell them that's not what happened!_

She opened her mouth to protest, but ducked her head when she remembered Caitlyn's threat. She would just have to keep her mouth shut.

"So how does it feel to be a freak for real?" Denise asked, jumping in on Jessica's fun. "Freak. _Freak. Freak!_ "

" _Freak! Freak! Freak!_ " Alisha joined in.

" _Freak! Freak! Freak!_ " they chanted, advancing on her. " _Freak! Freak! Freak—!_ "

"WOULD YOU LOT SHUT IT!" Tina suddenly roared from her bed, and her heart leapt at the thought of someone coming to her rescue. "SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO STUDY!"

Oh.

To say she deflated like a punctured balloon would be putting it lightly. Her shoulders sagged and she couldn't keep herself from beginning to sniffle, then sob, burying her face in her hands.

"Aww, wook, da widdle fweak is cwying," Jessica said, giving a dramatic pout. "Maybe you should go sleep in the common room, freak. Your bed's a bit of a mess."

Her fists clenched, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. If she retaliated, she'd be expelled for sure. She turned around and began making her way to the door, jolting forward when Denise lobbed an inkwell at the back of her head. The cork popped out and drenched her hair in thick black fluid that dripped down her collar and onto her back.

"Freak!" Alisha called.

She slammed the door behind her.

* * *

 _Dear mum and dad,_

 _Fourth week of classes and still going strong! I've made some pretty good friends already and I'm doing well in my classes. Defense Against the Dark Arts is my favorite so far! We're not going to start practicing spells in that class until next year, but right now we're learning about Dark creatures and how to (in theory) fight them. I can't wait to join the duelling club, that sounds like it will be amazing._

 _I also got to fly on a broom for the first time and it was incredible! I wish you could try it sometime; the wind on your face as you go into a dive is the most amazing feeling in the world._

 _I'm doing well in school; I think I'm somewhere around the third or fourth best in my year. Professor Dayton says we need to get good marks, especially in our fifth and seventh years, to get the 'really super cool' jobs, as he calls it. And some of them are so amazing! Curse-breaking, dragon taming, apothecary, Auror (wizard MI5, basically), and spell research all sound like they'd be the best jobs ever! It would be nice if I could actually have a shot at any of them, but… well, after Hogwarts, I'll probably go work at Flourish and Blotts or something. Bookselling doesn't seem too bad._

 _Anyway, I've got to go. Lunch is almost over and I have to get to class._

 _Love,_

The letter was promptly ripped out of his hands and Caitlyn held it up for inspection, before smirking and beginning to read it out loud. "'I've made some pretty good friends so far'—who are you talking about? Your reflection?"

Samantha and Hannah giggled.

"Face it, freak, you're so ugly nobody would ever want to be friends with you," Caitlyn sneered, wadding up the parchment and throwing it at the boy's head. He didn't react, just kept his eyes on the floor.

The Ravenclaws stood there for a moment, waiting for the Gryffindor to do anything; shout, cry, run away, _something_. But he just sat there, emotionless, empty.

"Oh my god, and she's _stupid_ , too!" Samantha said. "I don't think she even realizes we're here!"

"No, she definitely does," Hannah said. "She's just too stupid to understand what we're saying! Here, let me try." She began talking very slowly, like one might to a mentally challenged person. "We. Think. You're. A. _Freak_."

At the last word, he twitched slightly, and all three girls let out simultaneous "Oooh!"s.

"See you around, _freak_ ," Caitlyn said, patting him on the face. The last pat was more of a slap than anything as she turned around and headed to her own table.

He glanced up the Gryffindor table, but if anyone had noticed, they were now busy focusing on eating their food. At least the Hall was more empty during lunchtimes than it was for breakfast and dinner.

He sighed and picked up his letter, smoothed and signed it, then tucked it into his bag to bring to the Owlry later. He had to get to class.

Go to Transfiguration. Keep head down. Take notes from the board. Try not to get called on. Get called on, give wrong answer. Ignore bewildered looks from teacher. No matter. Make the points up later with homework. Bell rings. Get tripped in the corridors. Go to Potions. Keep head down. Take notes from the board. Try not to get called on. Get called on, give wrong answer. Ignore bewildered looks from teacher. No matter. Make the points up later with homework. Bell rings. Get tripped in the corridors…


	4. Chapter 4

...start second year with very few expectations that things will be any different. Except this time, things are very different.

"Lupin, Edward!"

She sat up straighter at the name, as did most of the student body, eager to get a look at the son of the only werewolf to receive an Order of Merlin, the godson of Harry Potter. And he was kind of cute, too, she thought with a rush of blood to her cheeks.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat cried, and there was a round of applause for Edward from the Hufflepuff table, accompanied by a chorus of "Oooh!"s when his hair changed from plain brown to striped yellow and black. He bowed to the Great Hall before jogging to the table, where he was eagerly welcomed by his new house mates.

She sighed and slid down further in her seat, then yelped when Denise kicked her in the knee.

Still, she wasn't going to complain. She loved her parents, but it was hard to argue when unlimited access to Wolfsbane was waved so very temptingly in her face. The transformations over the summer had been an absolute nightmare, and she'd added a good number of scars to her growing collection. Being able to sleep through a full moon would be worth it.

Denise kicked her again and she did her best to scoot sideways, but she was hemmed in on either side by students. She bit her lip and did her best to keep her eyes on the Sorting instead of reacting to the kicks that were growing more and more insistent.

This was going to be a long year.

* * *

She was crawling up the stairs to Charms when Caitlyn, Samantha, and Hannah passed. Hannah paused by her and looked around; seeing the empty staircase, her foot shot out and connected with the girl's nose. She yelled and fell backwards, tumbling down the stairs, books and parchment spilling out of her bag. An inkwell burst at the bottom, sending ink spraying, mixing with the blood dribbling from her nose.

The three Ravenclaws ran off, shrieking with laughter, leaving her lying on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. Stars danced in her vision and she shut her eyes tightly, taking deep breaths and focusing on the pain. It made it easier to deal with, somehow.

 _You've had worse,_ she told herself. _This isn't even close to what transforming feels like, or when you got paralyzed, or when you couldn't walk for several months_. _Not as bad as getting half your face ripped off, not as bad as—_

"Are you okay?" a boy asked, and she opened her eyes blearily. They snapped open wide when she realized it was a turquoise-haired Edward who was crouched over her, looking at her worriedly.

 _Oh, I'm just lying on the floor covered in ink and blood because I wanted to_ , she thought, but instead she said, "Fine," and slowly sat up.

Edward bit his lip and scooted away slightly. "Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?" he asked. "At least for the nosebleed, but you could have a concussion."

"I'm fine, I promise," she said, and feeling slightly emboldened, pointed to her face and said, "Believe me, I've had worse."

Edward's eyes flickered over the scars, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, I guess you have," he said, picking up her Charms textbook and handing it to her before reaching for her homework planner. "I'm Teddy Lupin, by the way," he said. "I, er, I'd offer to shake your hand, but it looks like they're a bit full at the moment."

"Just a bit," she said weakly, balancing the textbooks in one hand and using her wand to cast a cleaning charm on the ink with the other. "Teddy, thank you so much for helping, you have no idea what it means."

"Hey, it was no problem," Teddy said.

 _Not when you're the first person my age to treat me like I have feelings_ , she thought, but just gave him a weak smile.

"Hey, what's your name?" Teddy asked. "I don't think I caught—"

The bell rang, and they exchanged horrified looks.

"I gotta get to class!" Teddy said, jumping to his feet and running up the stairs two at a time. "I'll see you later!"

She sighed and slung her bag's strap over her shoulders again before putting her hands on the steps and beginning to climb once more. It wouldn't be the first time she'd be late.

* * *

"Miss Saibhir?"

He paused on the way out the door and slowly turned back. "Yes, Professor?"

Professor Dayton leaned against his desk and motioned for him to come closer. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

He hesitated, but shuffled over, suppressing a yawn. "What is it, Professor?"

"I'm going to be upfront with you: I'm worried. You've always been such a bright student; I can tell from your tests and homework. But you never want to speak up in class and when you do it's _always_ the wrong answer, never even close to correct. I noticed this started early last year and it's still going on. So what's the matter? I promise nobody will laugh at you if you show them how smart you really are."

 _Hey, what's she doing? Is she still working on homework on the weekend? But there's a Quidditch match in half an hour!_

 _What a weirdo._

 _You mean freak?_

 _Hahahahaha!_

He hunched his shoulders. "I'd rather not."

Professor Dayton frowned. "You realize if anything's going on, you can always talk to one of the professors, right?"

"Nothing's going on," he said softly. "I just don't want the attention." He bit his lip. "May I go, Professor? I don't want to be late to my next class."

The professor sighed but nodded. "Alright. My door's always open for you. I hope you know that."

He just turned and left. His shoulders stiffened when he passed through the door and found Jessica and Denise waiting on either side of it. They fell into step beside him, shoulders bumping his.

They didn't speak, but the message was clear: dare to fight back and you'll regret it.

* * *

Second year passed. Third year came and went. She took to hiding in the library during mealtimes, and she grew thin, painfully so, until she could count every one of her ribs and vertebrae.

It was preferable to risking one of the girls slipping laxatives into her food again.

She would wake up early and slip down to the Great Hall to grab a piece of toast or a bun before going to hide behind a suit of armor and working on whatever homework she hadn't yet finished. If she had no homework, she would read a book until the first bell rang. She'd go to classes and take notes, keep her head down.

When lunch break came, it was off to the library to return the books she'd borrowed and take out new ones. She'd appear in the Great Hall again at the tail end of lunch to grab a sandwich before hurrying to class. The entirety of dinner was missed in favor of more homework and reading in the library, and she'd go to bed hungry.

She slept with her bookbag beside her lest the girls in her dorm try any funny business during the night, and she'd take them with her whenever she'd leave: Transfiguration, Charms, two Defense books, Potions, History of Magic, Herbology, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, her homework planner, whatever extra books she'd been working her way through…

Her eyes became sunken and her cheeks gaunt, but if anyone noticed, they said nothing. She did a good job of hiding it, too, wearing several layers of jumpers under her robes. She was so cold all the time, though, that it didn't bother her. But she was tired, too. So very tired. The dark circles under her eyes that usually accompanied her transformations became a permanent feature of her face, and earned her the nickname of Raccoon-Eyes.

At least it was preferable to _freak_.

* * *

A/N: The Unnamed Protagonist is genderfluid, in case it wasn't clear enough.


	5. Chapter 5

With the stress of the upcoming O.W.L.s looming over their heads, it seemed like her dorm mates had mostly lost interest in tormenting her, instead turning their attention to their schoolwork and limiting their amusement to tripping her in the hallways.

She should have known they were just biding their time.

Her bed curtains were drawn tightly shut while she was in the middle of undressing, lost in her thoughts, worrying about which classes she'd write her next essay for, practicing her vanishing spells, reviewing her notes from the previous four years…

She didn't hear Jessica tiptoeing to her bed until the curtains were ripped open and she screamed, covering her chest and hunching over on the bed, trying to grab hold of her robes before Jessica yanked them away.

She heard her trunk's lock snap open as Alisha yelled, "Merlin, she's even uglier than I thought!"

"Get her clothes," Jessica said, tossing the stolen robe to Denise and snatching up the wand on the bed.

"No, please!" she begged, getting up and making a lunge for her things.

" _Petrificus Totalus_ ," Jessica said, almost lazily, and her arms and legs snapped together. She toppled over and fell to the floor, unable to move to cover herself up or defend herself when Denise casually kicked her in the ribs before going back to rummaging through her trunk.

"Wow, whoever's dog attacked you, send them our thanks," Alisha said, smirking as she caught the cloak Denise threw at her. "Or, on second thought… don't. I can't believe we have to share our dorm with you. _Or_ that you called Caitlyn a freak! _You're_ the freak, freak. Maybe you should do us a favor and just kill yourself."

Jessica and Denise snorted with laughter, and Denise slammed the trunk shut. "You know what I think we should do?" she said, and slowly pulled a camera out from her robes.

Her eyes flickered rapidly, the only part of her body she was able to move, her face burning as the girls snapped pictures of her, moving her stiff body into better positions for photos.

When at last they seemed to grow bored of it all, Jessica knelt beside her and smiled. "You know what? I'm feeling nice today, so I'll make you a deal. You keep quiet about this, and _we_ don't put up these photos all over the school for everyone to see. Deal?"

She could only whimper.

The smile slid off Jessica's face and she stood up. "Come on," she said, jerking her head at the others. "We've got to get rid of these rags. Maybe we could put them on the Whomping Willow?"

Shrieking like hyenas, the trio left, leaving her lying on the floor in her underwear.

The spell was just beginning to wear off when Tina opened the door to the dorm. The prefect's eyes widened when she saw her lying there, and she hurriedly pulled off her cloak to cover her. " _Finite Incantatem_. I'm sorry," she said quietly. "What happened?"

She just looked away.

Tina bit her lip before casting a summoning charm; her stolen clothes and wand came soaring through the window and landed in a pile around them. "Don't tell them I did this for you," she said. "I don't want to be next."

"I won't," she said softly.

* * *

He sat down in the chair before Professor Longbottom's desk and set his bag on the floor, folding his hands in his lap and fidgeting nervously while he waited for the teacher to speak.

"So," Professor Longbottom said, pushing aside the potted honking daffodil that was sitting on his desk. He paused when it let out a low, mournful toot, then smiled at him. "Miss Saibhir. I suppose I'll get this started. What sort of careers have you considered so far?"

He hesitated, biting his lip. "I… I suppose selling books?"

Professor Longbottom waited for him to say more, but when he didn't, he sighed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out what, at first glance, looked like a Galleon. But when he passed it over and said, "Do you know what this is?", the boy's eyes widened slightly.

"Is this one of the coins Dumbledore's Army used?" he said softly, holding it up for inspection.

"It is," Professor Longbottom said, smiling.

He looked up, brow furrowed. "Why are you showing me this?"

"You remind me of myself," Professor Longbottom said, shrugging. "I was bullied when I was a student, too—"

"Nobody's bullying me." The lie fell automatically from his lips.

"Miss Saibhir, just because I haven't seen anything doesn't mean I can't tell something's going on. If you're going to insist on staying quiet, then there isn't anything I or the other teachers can do." Professor Longbottom sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "But that's not why I'm showing you this, exactly. I didn't have much confidence in myself until I joined Dumbledore's Army and realized there was so much I could do."

"That's… that's nice, Professor, but I don't really see what the point is…" He ducked his head. "Sorry. Er. Go on."

Professor Longbottom laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I thought I'd make some inspirational speech and tie it into a metaphor about my own life, but it's not really working. Okay, then: Professor Dayton told me you're his best student he's seen in years, and that you seemed particularly interested in becoming an Auror a while ago. I was wondering if you've considered that any further."

He laughed nervously. "Oh, no, I think there's been a mistake. I couldn't possibly—I mean, I'm a—they'd never let—"

"I happen to be very good friends with the head of the Auror Office," Professor Longbottom said. "And I used to be an Auror myself before I decided I wanted to become a teacher. If you can get the marks necessary to become a potential candidate, I'd be more than happy to put in a good word for you."

His heart caught in his throat. Could it really be possible? He could become an Auror? Harry Potter himself would be willing to take him on?

"Of course," Professor Longbottom said, smiling, "that's assuming you'd still be interested."

His eyes shone and he nodded. "I'd lo…"

Caitlyn's sneering face appeared in his head. Don't be ridiculous. You? An Auror? Next thing you know they'll be putting a troll in the Minister's office! I mean, you can't even walk right; how can you expect to be a Dark wizard catcher when I can trip you in the halls?

"...love to, but I don't think I can say yes," he said softly. "I wouldn't stand a chance."

Professor Longbottom looked at him for a long moment, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Are you saying that because that's what you believe, or because that's what others have made you believe about yourself?" he said finally. "Because for what it's worth, I think you'd be a good candidate, and your other teachers agree."

He was silent for a moment, turning the words over in his mind. When he didn't speak, Professor Longbottom cleared his throat.

"Harry Potter told me once I was worth twelve of my bullies, and I'm glad I listened to him." He steepled his fingers. "Will you prove you're worth twelve of them?"

His fingers closed around the coin. "What do I have to do?"

* * *

She climbed the stairs to the duelling platform and pulled her wand from her belt, holding it at the ready.

"...Really?" Ryan Bennett asked from the other end of the platform, glancing over his shoulder at Professor Dayton. "You want me to fight _her?_ "

"What, are you scared to fight a cripple?" his twin, Adam, yelled to him, and Professor Dayton snapped his fingers at him.

"Five points from Slytherin," he said, his mouth a thin line. "Miss Saibhir is now a member of the duelling club too, and you should treat her with the same respect you show your peers."

Adam and Ryan rolled their eyes, but Ryan took a ready stance.

Professor Dayton began counting down. The moment he reached one, her wand shot forward. " _Stupefy!_ " she cried, and Ryan collapsed when the jet of red light struck him squarely in the chest.

The students gathered around the platform fell completely silent for a moment before whispers broke out among them. Professor Dayton climbed onto the platform to revive Ryan, who sat up and glared at her. "Again," he demanded, getting to his feet.

"Best of three, then," Professor Dayton said, and returned to his spot by the platform where he was moderating. "Wands at the ready!"

This time, when Ryan attacked first (she would swear he'd moved before the professor had finished his countdown), she pivoted on her good leg out of the way of his hex before returning with another stunner.

This time, the students began to laugh, their laughter growing when Ryan was revived for the second time in as many minutes, his face red. "She cheated!" he said, pointing at her.

She stood frozen in place for a second, thinking she was going to get kicked out of the club as soon as she'd joined, but Professor Dayton just raised an eyebrow. "I was watching the whole time and I can assure you that she didn't cheat," he said. "But if you would like to duel her again…"

Ryan shook his head and limped off the stage, rubbing his tailbone. She couldn't keep from smiling to herself; he'd landed on it twice and would have a very lovely bruise in the morning.

"Way to go, Bennet, you got your arse kicked by the freak!" a boy yelled from the back.

Professor Dayton's head whipped around, but whoever it was had fallen silent. The students sniggered.

"Bennet, Saibhir, take a break," the professor said with a sigh. "Fairfield, Hughs, you're up next!"

When the club meeting ended, Professor Dayton pulled her aside. "You did a good job up there," he said.

She ducked her head. "I only won because he didn't know what to expect."

"He underestimated you," the professor corrected. "You'd be surprised just how much that can turn the tide of battle, so to speak. You stuck with what you knew would work and didn't attempt anything fancy to show off, moved just as much as you needed to, and kept your head."

She shrugged and scuffed a toe on the ground. "It's just because he thought I was slower than I was, that's all," she said.

"And that's a bad thing?" Professor Dayton asked. "I think you used that very well to your advantage. Others will look at your leg as a weakness, but if you play your cards right, it could become your greatest strength."

"Until I need to run away," she said bitterly, and he chuckled before composing himself.

"I'm sorry, that was inappropriate of me. Yes, I won't deny that it will give you trouble, but everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. If you want, though, I could tutor you in the evenings to develop your footwork, see if we can't find a style that fits you."

Her eyes shone and she nodded. "I'd love that very much."


	6. Chapter 6

She ducked into the Great Hall near the end of the lunch period to grab a sandwich, not expecting to see anyone she really knew in there—but to her surprise, Teddy waved at her from his seat. She hesitantly returned the wave, smiling even as her heart sank when she saw he was sitting next to Victoire.

Beautiful, talented, perfect Victoire. She didn't hate the girl, but it was hard to compare herself to the veela-blooded witch and not feel intense jealousy.

Especially when Victoire slipped her hand into Teddy's and rested her head on his shoulder.

Her stomach clenched and she turned away to pick up a sandwich. Clutching the precious food close—she'd probably not get anything to eat until breakfast tomorrow—she turned around only to find herself face-to-face with Jessica.

Her heart began pounding when Jessica said, "Hey, mind if I talk to you?" Her tone was friendly, but the gleam in her eye said she had other things in mind.

Too terrified to speak, she shook her head and followed Jessica out of the Great Hall and into the side chamber. Jessica locked the door behind them.

"You remember these?" she asked, pulling a small stack of photographs out of her bag and fanning them out.

Her mouth went dry when she realized what they were, and her eyes flickered to Jessica's.

"I'm sorry, did I say you could look at me?" Jessica said coldly, and she looked down again. "Now then." Jessica neatly stacked the photos and slid them back in her bag. "I was looking at these and thinking to myself, how could a pit bull do this much damage? And how is it that you kept getting more scars after every holiday?"

 _No, no, please don't say it, please don't_ —

"And then I started noticing how you seemed to get sick so often, how it always coincidentally lined up with the full moon…" Jessica's smile widened when she noticed her dorm mate beginning to tremble. "So I started thinking, you know, I _really_ don't like the idea of sharing a room with a monster, but you're pretty smart and I'm getting bored of writing so many essays for my teachers. Would you be a dear and take care of them for me whenever I asked?"

"W-whatever you want," she whispered.

"And the rest of my homework, too?"

"Anything." Her voice was so faint that Jessica _ahem_ ed, and she reluctantly repeated herself.

"And Denise and Alisha are probably going to need your assistance, too."

"O-of course."

"I always wanted to have a friend like you," Jessica said, patting her on the head. "You're a very good girl, aren't you?"

Her cheeks burned and she kept her eyes on the floor, not trusting herself to say anything.

Jessica laughed. "I'll see you tonight. I already have a Potions essay due tomorrow and what do you know, you haven't started on it yet." She reached out and plucked the sandwich from the other girl's hands. "You really shouldn't be eating this, you know. It's much too good for someone like you." She dropped the sandwich on the floor and stepped on it as she left the side chamber, chuckling like she'd said something terribly clever.

She remained frozen in place, the weight of her bookbag suddenly feeling ten times heavier. She had her own Potions essay she needed to write, and she needed to start translating those runes for Professor Babbling, and diagram the anatomy of a hippogriff for Hagrid…

Well. It looked like her lessons with Professor Dayton would just have to wait.

Her stomach rumbled as the bell rang. Breakfast was just nineteen hours away.

* * *

He finished writing Jessica's essay for Professor Calderon and rubbed his eyes before pulling the parchment closer to him. His vision blurred and he reached for the rag by his side, tapping it with his wand to soak it in cold water before rubbing it over his face. Feeling slightly more awake, he stifled a yawn and picked up the quill once again. He couldn't afford to fall asleep now, he still had Denise and his own essays to do, and then he still had to do those translations…

He looked longingly out the window, where the waxing gibbous hung overhead. Tomorrow, at least, he'd be able to get some sleep in the Hospital Wing.

The thought made him pause, and then he began to giggle hysterically. To think he would actually start looking forward to his monthly transformations was absurd, but his life was such a mess at this point he'd take any excuse to sleep. He pushed away from the table and began pacing back and forth, lightly slapping his face in an attempt to wake himself further. Just one minute, that was all he needed. One minute to let his mind relax and then he'd get back to work.

He went to the window and rested his forehead against the glass, welcoming its frigid temperature. He stared down at the grounds below, wondering how it would feel if he just opened the window right now and jumped.

He was tired. So very tired. So tired…

He jolted awake when the sun was beginning to rise. His neck was stiff; he'd fallen asleep against the window and the side of his face was numb from the cold. Heart pounding, he hurried back to the table and tapped Jessica's essay so his handwriting shifted to look like hers before reaching for a blank piece of parchment to begin Denise's essay.

Change a few words here, a phrase there, rearrange the order of sentences… once one was done, he could do the rest. He could do this. He'd get them through to the O.W.L.s and let them fail the tests on their own.

Just six more months.

He let out a heavy sigh and began to write.

* * *

She leaned against the low wall that encircled the top of the Astronomy tower. The wind blew in her face, causing her eyes to sting. She closed them briefly and bit her lip.

She wasn't supposed to be up here—the tower was off-limits save for classes—but what did she care? She leaned forward, looking down at the ground so very far below. Slowly, she climbed onto the wall. She held her arms out. She closed her eyes.

"What are you doing?"

She started and almost lost her balance, but Teddy grabbed her arm and pulled her down before she could fall. "Hey, easy there. Are you alright?" he asked, worry in his eyes.

She shook her head. And then she was sniffling, and then crying, and then bawling, telling him everything, how the students in her year treated her, how her dorm mates made life absolute hell, how Caitlyn was spreading vicious lies to incite strangers to humiliate and harass her. How she was so tired and stressed and just wanted everything to end, because everyone hated her, but none so much as she hated herself.

Teddy held her tight and she cried. He cupped the back of her head. "I don't hate you," he said gently.

"Y...you don't?" she asked, reaching up to wipe her eyes. Her vision was blurry from the tears, but she could see he was smiling.

"Of course not," he said. "I wave to you in the hallways, don't I? And that time I picked up your books, I wasn't an arse. I do care about you, even if I don't know you."

"You're just saying that," she mumbled.

Teddy hugged her tight. "I'm not. Please, don't jump. At least for your parents. They love you, right?"

"They do," she said quietly.

"You'll get through this," he said, and kissed her forehead.

She opened her eyes. She was standing on the wall, arms outstretched. The wind blew in her face, and her eyes stung.

She was alone.

Slowly, she sat down and let her legs dangle over the edge. She wouldn't jump.

Not today, at least.

* * *

She limped out of the Great Hall, blending in among the crowd of excited fifth years. O.W.L.s were over and it was time to celebrate. Time for sleep. While the rest of the students turned left to go to the grounds, she turned right and began climbing the stairs.

Exams were over. She could sleep at last.

Her forearm stung as she climbed, and she paused on the third floor to pull her sleeve up again. She'd taken to stabbing herself in the arm with her quill during the exams; it was all she could do to keep herself awake at that point. A long line of puncture wounds ran down her arm; several of them were still trickling blood.

No matter; these weren't cursed wounds. They could be healed. She pulled out her wand and did so, sighing with relief when they closed up.

She was probably going to be expelled after this year, she mused as she resumed slowly climbing the stairs. There was no way she could possibly have passed any of her exams.

She realized, though, that she didn't really care at this point. All she cared about was collapsing on her bed and finally allowing herself to sleep.

* * *

She was lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling, her breathing shallow as she attempted to not jostle the new gashes on her ribs. It had been a fairly gentle night, though; she hadn't even needed to go to St. Mungo's this time. She was glad; she couldn't bear listening to them talk about her, like she was an 'it' and not a person. She couldn't bear the way they stared at her, how they whispered about her when they thought she couldn't hear, but didn't care if she could. A few gashes were nothing compared to that.

"Sweetie?" Mrs. Saibhir opened the door and looked in. "An owl just came for you."

"Okay," she said, not moving.

"I'm sure it has your marks for the O.W.L.s."

"Okay."

"Would you like me to bring it in to you?"

She just grunted, but her mother took it as an invitation and came in, sitting on the bed beside her. Mrs. Saibhir held out the envelope, but when her daughter didn't react, she said, "I can read it if you want."

She grunted again, and Mrs. Saibhir opened the envelope. There was silence for a moment, then Mrs. Saibhir let out a tiny sob, covering her mouth.

Her heart sank. "How bad is it?"

"No—no, sweetie, this is good, this is _amazing!_ Ancient Runes, A. Astronomy, O. Care of Magical Creatures, O. Charms, E. Defense Against the Dark Arts, O—"

She sat up and ripped the letter out of her mother's hands. Herbology, E. History of Magic, A. Potions, E. Transfiguration, O.

She hadn't just passed; she'd _passed_. She'd passed and she was on her way to N.E.W.T. levels and she was going to become an Auror.

The realization finally sank in and she let out a whoop, throwing her arms around her mother and screaming in joy—and then in pain when the motion tore at her wounds.

Half-laughing, half crying, she fell back on the bed, clutching the letter to her chest.

And then the laugh turned into a strangled sob when she thought of all the work that lay in store for her next year.


	7. Chapter 7

"Wow, would you look at that," Jessica said, lounging on her bed and kicking her feet up in the air. "The freak actually managed to make it back for sixth year. Kind of amazing, isn't it?"

"Seriously," Denise agreed. "I had _such_ a hard time with those tests; who even got better than an A on anything?" She quailed when Jessica and Alisha gave her scornful looks. "What?"

"Seriously?" Alisha said. "You didn't get a single E?"

"Uh, no," Denise said. "I'm just here to get my Charms N.E.W.T. and that's it."

Jessica and Alisha exchanged glances and twittered.

She kept her head down and smiled, but the smile was wiped off her face when Denise accusingly asked, "Well, what did _you_ get?"

"Nothing much," she said quietly.

"So you'll have plenty of time to work on my homework," Denise said, and that was when something in her snapped.

She was better than this.

"No," she said.

The other girls in the dorm went quiet.

"Did you just say no?" Jessica demanded.

"I said _no_ ," she said, turning to face them.

Jessica's eyes narrowed. "Do I need to remind you that I have the pictures—?"

"It doesn't matter," she said simply. "I got nine O.W.L.s. I'm going for five N.E.W.T.s this year. If you expect me to be able to do all of your homework this year, then all of us are going to flunk out. If you share those pictures, I won't have anything to lose. And I _will_ go after you."

There was something deeply satisfying about the fear in Jessica's eyes, but then it was immediately followed by guilt. They already thought she was a monster, and she'd just gone and confirmed it for them. Her chin trembled, but she stood her ground. "It was thanks to you guys that I passed at all. I had to study four times as much to make up for your work. I could have taken those tests in my sleep. I practically did as it is. If you thought the O.W.L.s were hard, then you won't stand a chance in N.E.W.T. levels. So do yourselves a favor and leave me _alone_. Unless you want the freak to show you up again."

Jessica crossed the room, hand raised, and she flinched. The blow didn't land; Jessica lowered her hand, smirking. "Here I thought for a moment you'd forgotten your place," she said.

She kept her eyes on the floor. "I do mean it," she said. "I won't be able to keep up with the work for all of you. I-I-I'm sorry…"

Her head snapped to the side and a loud _SMACK_ echoed around the room. She stayed still as Jessica went back to her bed.

"I know if those pictures get shared, you'll be ruined," Jessica said at last. "So don't try to pretend you can weasel your way out of this with brave words. The Hat might have put you in Gryffindor, but you're not one of us. Look at you."

She still kept her gaze directed at her feet.

"You can't even look anyone in the eye. You're scared of _everyone_. As you should be. Freaks like you don't deserve to live. I said it ages ago; you really should just jump off the Astronomy tower and do us all a favor."

She just stood there, motionless save for her breathing.

At last, Jessica rolled her eyes and pulled the curtains shut around her bed. She let out a small breath and went to her trunk to retrieve her pyjamas.

That Astronomy tower idea was seeming more and more appealing every day.

* * *

Caitlyn was watching her. Whenever she came into class, when she briefly entered the Great Hall to grab food (and maybe stare at Teddy a little), when she limped her way to the Hospital Wing. Even the library was no longer a refuge for her; Caitlyn was the top student in their year for a reason, and with N.E.W.T.s to study for, the two girls found themselves running into each other there almost every day. So she took to going to the library only to grab the books she wanted before she disappeared to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The ghost was too preoccupied wailing in her stall to bother her, and nobody else wanted to be bothered by the ghost. It was a less than ideal arrangement, but she made it work.

And the year was much easier to deal with now that she only had her own studies to focus on. She was able to sleep through the night, for a change, and she was finally able to take Professor Dayton up on his offer of tutoring her in the evenings.

"Back! And back!" he ordered, firing off a pair of jinxes at her bad leg. She put up a shield charm and danced out of the way, surprisingly agile despite her handicap. "You don't have the full range of motion that other duelists do, so you're going to need to make use of what you've got." He paused and held his wand up, signaling for them to take a break. "Are you able to put weight on that leg without it hurting?"

"It aches a little," she said. "But yes. It's just hard to move. And… sometimes I get shooting pains up my leg…"

Professor Dayton nodded. "In that case, make sure to move to the left on occasion, to throw your opponents off. I know it's easier for you to keep pivoting on your right, and if you're able to keep your guard up, it can work in the short term, but you'll have to move at some point."

She nodded.

"Ready?" he asked. "Try to do it nonverbally this time; I know your teachers have started asking you to perform spells like that, and being able to duel without speaking both saves your breath and makes it harder for your opponent to counter."

"I… I'll try," she said, and her eyes widened at his response.

"Do or do not, there is no try," he said, and smiled. "You're not the only Muggleborn here, kid."

"I knew I wasn't," she said, taking a ready stance. "I just never really talked to any."

He mirrored her stance, then fired off a jinx. She raised her wand and tried to perform a silent shield, but it fizzled; the spell hit her in the chest and knocked her down.

Instead of getting back up, though, she rolled behind the desks they'd moved to the sides of the room.

"Not going to come out?" Professor Dayton called.

"I think I'll stay here, thanks," she said. She crouched, listening to his approaching footsteps, and when she judged he was close enough, lunged. She tackled him around the knees and knocked him to the ground, holding her wand at his throat.

Professor Dayton stared up at her for a moment before he began to laugh. "Not many wizards would think to resort to Muggle duelling," he said, holding up his hands. "I yield."

She stood up and offered him a hand; he took it and pulled himself up, brushing down his robes. "That's something you'll be expected to learn in Auror training, too," he said. "It's a topic they only lightly touch on, but you already have a leg up on that. I think Professor Longbottom had the right idea about you."

She blushed and ducked her head.

"I think we can call it a night," Professor Dayton continued. "I've got an exam to write and I'm sure you have more than plenty of homework to do."

She nodded. "Thank you again, Professor."

"See you in class," he said.

She nodded and left, a spring in her (lurching) step. She was doing well in classes, tutoring was going great, she'd only been pushed down the stairs once that day…

So she was completely unprepared when, from behind a suit of armor, Caitlyn's disarming spell ripped her wand from her belt.

" _Silencio! Levicorpus!_ " Caitlyn said, stepping out from her hiding spot. She didn't even have a chance to dodge, and she let out a noiseless scream as she was hoisted into the air by her bad leg. Her eyes began to water as she felt the strain, and sharp pains began shooting through her knee. Her mouth opened and closed in a perfect approximation of a goldfish and she stared down at Caitlyn in terror.

"Re-lax, I'm not going to hurt you," Caitlyn said, folding her arms and smiling up at the helpless Gryffindor. "Not yet, anyway. But I'm starting to get real sick of you showing up everywhere I go. The library, the Great Hall… bad enough you somehow managed to make it into my classes. So I thought I'd come here to remind you that _I'm_ the smart one, not you. _I'm_ the Ravenclaw. Not you. _You_ , on the other hand… you're a monster masquerading as a human. Face it, the only reason you've gotten this far is because the professors feel _sorry_ for you. They see you as a charity case. It wouldn't surprise me if they fudged your O.W.L.s to see what would happen. They're setting you up just so you can fall."

Caitlyn began pacing in circles underneath her. "Jessica told me about your little display of defiance in the dorms the first night back. I gotta say, we've been getting real tired of your shit. Honestly, putting up with you the last six years? We were being _nice_. _This_ is me being nice." She stared up at her with cold blue eyes. "You so much as _think_ about trying to show me up and you're going to regret it." She paused, smiled, then set off down the corridor, kicking the discarded wand to the side. "The spell should wear off in a few hours. In the meantime… enjoy sleeping on the ceiling."

She began to struggle, flailing her arms until she was able to bend at the stomach and grab hold of her ankle, trying to relieve some of the pressure on her knee. However, after only a minute, her hands slipped, and she fell back down, torso swinging in the air. Panic began to set in; Caitlyn had said the spell would wear off in a few hours, but she knew humans couldn't survive too terribly long being hung upside-down.

 _You're a monster masquerading as a human_.

"Shut up!" she yelled, punching the air in front of her. If she hadn't been Silenced, her voice would have echoed down the corridors, but as it was, she just wheezed out a long breath. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS! I DON'T DESERVE THIS! I'M ONLY THIS WAY BECAUSE OF YOU! I SHOULD HAVE TOLD THAT MAN WHERE TO FIND YOU! _YOU_ SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE BITTEN, NOT ME! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN _YOU!_ "

"Need some help?"

She craned her neck backwards to see Teddy standing behind her, head tilted to one side and a wary expression on his face. It was a good thing her face was already red from being hung upside-down, because otherwise there would have been no way for her to hide her blush.

She pointed to her wand on the floor, and Teddy nodded, picking it up and handing it to her. She made sure to cast a cushioning charm on the floor below her before tapping her wand against her leg and freeing her from the spell. She landed on the invisible cushion and rolled off, then frowned, pointed the wand at her throat and thought of the two little words that would strike her with a beam of bright green light…

She sighed and unsilenced herself instead. "Thank you. Again."

"What happened?" Teddy asked, looking up at the spot where she'd been hanging a moment earlier.

"I was practicing my spells," she said immediately. "I, er, silenced myself on purpose to see if I could cast spells nonverbally, then… accidentally strung myself up and dropped my wand."

Teddy just gave her a long look, but he nodded. "I was just on my way down from the library," he said. "Glad I stopped by; who knows how long you could've been up there?"

She laughed awkwardly and looked away.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

Her heart began to beat faster. "Yeah?"

"What's your name? I've kinda known you since my first year, but you never got the chance to tell me yours."

And just like that, her heart sank. He didn't even know her name. "Haven't you heard?" she said bitterly. "Everyone here calls me Freak."

"But—"

"See you around, Teddy," she said quietly, and limped away.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Last of the episodic chapters! Next chapter is when the story settles into a narrative. Enjoy!

* * *

It had to be some kind of record, she thought as she sat down to the end of term feast next to a rather gloomy-looking first year with messy black hair. Could it really be possible she was the first student in the history of Hogwarts to go through seven years without making a single friend?

She chuckled quietly to herself. She was being ridiculous to think she was so special; Hogwarts was over a thousand years old. Surely at least _one_ student had done it before.

The Hufflepuff colors decorated every inch of Hall, and she could see Teddy had turned his hair yellow and black once again to celebrate. She smiled sadly when she realized this would be the the last time she'd ever see him, and at the thought, lurched to her feet when the feast began. She limped over to Teddy's seat and nervously tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, what can—oh!" Teddy looked up at her and smiled. "It's you."

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Listen, this is my last night here; I've graduated and won't be coming back. So before I have to go, I just wanted to say… thank you."

"For what?" Teddy asked curiously.

"For being my friend," she said.

He hesitated and looked sideways at Victoire, who was sitting next to him. "Er…"

"I know we didn't talk much, but you were nice to me. So… I know this is going to sound weird, but thank you for being my… my best friend at Hogwarts." She turned to Victoire and gave her a watery smile. "You're very lucky to have him. I'm—I'm happy for you two."

"Wait—" Victoire began, but she was already limping back to her table.

"Whoa," the boy beside her seat said. She glanced at him and realized it was James Potter, who was looking between her and Teddy, his nose wrinkled. "What would you want to talk to Ted for?"

"He was nice to me," she said simply, and turned to the food that had appeared on her plates. There was no way Caitlyn or Jessica or any of the others could have tampered with her food tonight.

So she loaded up on the rarest steak she could find, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and a goblet topped off with iced pumpkin juice, and began to eat.

But she'd grown so used to starving herself over the last four years that the sudden arrival of so much rich food in her system caused her stomach to revolt, and she was escorted to the Hospital Wing before dessert because she vomited all over the table.

But what was one last embarrassment? In a week's time, she'd be reporting to the Ministry to begin her training as an Auror. She was free.

* * *

She waited in a small room with the three other Auror trainees, hopefuls just like her, who, if they could complete their training would in two years' time be made fully-licensed Dark wizard catchers… and then she could hunt down that werewolf who had mistaken her for Caitlyn so many years ago.

"Wow, I guess they'll let just about anyone in these days," Ryan Bennet said, looking her up and down as she entered. "Didn't think we'd be seeing you in here, freak."

She flinched and took a step back, and Adam chuckled. "Wow, bravery like that, she won't last a day. How on Earth did you ever get sorted into Gryffindor?"

"What're you going on about?" Lisse Hughs asked as she came into the room. The ex-Hufflepuff looked between the three and frowned. "Bennet, you're not still on about all the times she kicked your arse in Duelling Club, are you?"

"Who kicked whose arse in Duelling?" a woman asked as she came into the room. "Hello, everyone! Seats!"

There was a scramble to find a chair, and when everyone was seated, the woman pointed at the twins. "Bennet and Bennet?"

"Yep!"

"You got it!"

"Hughs?" She pointed to Lisse.

Lisse nodded and waved.

"And Saibhir. There's no mistaking you."

She ducked her head and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"My name is Gertrude Giles," she said, "and I am in charge of supervising the training of not just you, but of all new Aurors we recruit. If you think this job will be easy, if you think this job will be fun, or full of personal glory, then you picked the wrong career and should leave now." She pointed to the door, but none of them moved. She paused and looked around, then began pacing back and forth at the front of the room. "This is going to be a two year course where you will be partnered with a more experienced Auror; he or she will be your mentor while you are in training. You will go on missions with them, ask them any of your questions, and they will be the ones assessing you in skills such as duelling, stealth and tracking, disguise and concealment, creation of antidotes and assessment of poisons, and criminal investigation. Work hard and you will pass; fail to take your training seriously and you will be let go." She raised her voice, speaking in the direction of the door. "Come in."

Four witches and wizards filed in and made immediate beelines to the different trainees. She looked up when an older looking wizard with a short black beard approached. "Aaron Hollins," he said, holding out a hand to shake, which she returned firmly. "No need to ask who you are, Saibhir. Heard Longbottom was singing your praises to Mr. Potter; I hope you'll prove to be as good as he says and you're not just another charity case." He eyed the scars on her face.

Caitlyn's words from two years ago echoed in her ears, but she just smiled. "I was one of the top members of the Hogwarts Duelling Club," she said, forcing herself to sound, well, forceful. "Professor Dayton tutored me every night in sixth and seventh year as well. I had top—"

"I'm not interested in that," Hollins said. "I'm interested in what you can _do_." He looked up at Giles. "Permission to take the rookie to the training room?"

Giles nodded. "Try not to rough her up too much; it looks like she's been through the wringer already!"

Hollins laughed and strode out the door. Cheeks burning, she hop-lurched after him, praying that this wouldn't be nearly as bad as Hogwarts.

* * *

He lay stretched out on his bed, shirtless, staring up at the ceiling in contemplation, images crowding his head as he sorted through designs..

Training was going well, very well. Hollins was gruff, but kind, and he never missed a chance to offer advice. Or sometimes drill it into his head, that worked, too.

He knew Giles had said that being an Auror wasn't supposed to be fun, but he was having the time of his life. Even the parts that involved huddling outside a suspected neo-Death Eater meeting house, in the freezing cold and pouring down rain, couldn't dampen his spirits. Hollins would tell stories from his training days, share pieces of wisdom. And, of course, complain. Hollins liked to complain about his age, the weather, how things were being run, his pupil's lack of a sense of humor, about his kids' refusal to clean their rooms—if it existed, he would complain about it.

He didn't mind; it saved him from having to fill the silence.

He looked down at his arms; there was a new pink scar that ran almost the entire length of his bicep, stretching the skin taut.

Hollins liked to complain that he always insisted on wearing long sleeves even when in the training room, where everyone left drenched in sweat. But there was no way he could bare his arms, the last time anyone other than his parents had seen…

He shuddered. He didn't like to think about that.

But maybe he could do something to cover them up. He grabbed his wand and placed the tip against his skin, gritting his teeth at the sudden, shallow stabbing sensation. Flames blossomed on his skin, swirling red and gold and orange, and a dragon lifted its head, tail wrapped protectively around its hoard.

A swirling nebula of blue and pink, dotted with stars, erupted into being, and he smiled when he added just a touch of _Doctor Who_ to the ink. On his chest, wings and roses. A phoenix took flight on his ribs, and on his back floated an ancient ship, sailing among the stars.

He set his wand down and went to the mirror, smiling at his reflection. The tattoos didn't entirely hide the full extent of his injuries, but they certainly helped disguise it.

He couldn't help turning this way and that, admiring his reflection instead of looking at it in shame and disgust. He took a ready stance and threw a few punches at his reflection, focusing less on technique and more on how his body moved. He straightened up and rolled his neck.

He could hardly believe he was thinking this, but he looked _good_.

The door creaked open and he yelped, ducking sideways behind his dresser. "Mum!" he said. "I'm not dressed!"

"Like I haven't see you naked before," she said dryly, but backed out and shut the door. "Supper's ready; I made your favorite pasta. I thought we could celebrate your first year of Auror training together."

"...It's been a year?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

His mother laughed. "Time flies, doesn't it? Get dressed. I'll make sure your father doesn't eat everything before you get the chance. Here's to hoping next year is just as good as the first."

* * *

Hollins grabbed the last of the neo-Death Eaters just as he was beginning to stir and pulled off his mask. "Don't recognize this one, either," he said. "I don't like it; they're starting to branch out, recruiting people of 'impure' blood."

"Didn't that happen in the first war, though?" she asked, looking up from checking their prisoners' bonds.

"It did, but not to this extent," Hollins said. "Send word to the Ministry and keep an eye on these guys; I'm going to do one last sweep before we leave."

She nodded and he went back inside the house. She closed her eyes, drawing on the happiest thoughts she could: the raid had been successful, four neo-Death Eaters had been captured, and in just a week's time, she'd be made a full Auror.

The silvery hare sprung from the tip of her wand and sat on its haunches before her, awaiting her message.

"Four NDEs to pick up at Location Seven," she said. "Hollins doing a sweep of building; send Dark artefact experts. One Hand of Glory, miscellaneous others." She paused, then said, "Go."

The hare bounded off and she slowly sat down beside their prisoners, rubbing her leg. It was starting to ache, though this time it was less because of the approaching full moon and more because of the wolf's attempts to gnaw it off during the last. All she could do was send a silent thanks to whichever witch or wizard had invented numbing spells; she didn't know how else she would have been able to function otherwise, especially since she was long cut off from her supply of Wolfsbane.

Hollins returned, shaking his head. "Found several phials of blood, and I don't think they're dragon, if you get my meaning," he said. "Couple of bones, too, look like they're children's."

She wrinkled her nose. "Gross."

There was a _crack!_ that echoed up the street, and a trio of Aurors appeared beside them.

"Mr. Potter?" she said in surprise. "B-but this was just a routine capture."

"I needed to stretch my legs," the head of the Auror Office replied, "before I drowned in paperwork. Nice work, by the way."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Hollins said. He lifted one of the unconscious wizards. "I'll see you back at the office."

Mr. Potter nodded and picked up a wizard for himself, as did the other Auror. She recognized her from around the Ministry, but couldn't recall her name. She shrugged and grabbed the last Death Eater's collar before turning on her heel and Disapparating.

She appeared in the Ministry, outside the entrance to the Auror Office. Since this was one of the most high-security places in the building, after the Department of Mysteries and the Minister's office, anti-Apparation wards were set up over every inch of their headquarters.

" _Mobilicorpus_ ," she said, and the Death Eater lifted off the ground, hovering in place, head lolling. She put a hand on his back and began pushing him in.

"Morning, Saibhir," Tipping greeted her as he stepped outside.

"Hey, Tipping," she said. "Is it really morning already?"

"You and Hollins were gone all night," he said. "Hughs and I were about ready to start taking bets on when you'd return."

She laughed. "Hope you two kept at least one of the holding cells empty for us."

"They're all yours," he said. "Oh, and the new secretary started today—you should say hi, make her feel welcome."

"Will do," she said, and pushed through the doors. "Hey," she said. "Tipping told me you just started, so let me welcome—" She looked around the Death Eater's body and the blood drained out of her face.

Caitlyn stared back, cold blue eyes boring into terrified green ones. " _You?!_ "

"Y-you…" It was like being back in Hogwarts all over again. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" Caitlyn snapped. "How the hell did you get a job _here?!_ "

"P-Professor Longbottom recom-m-mended me," she said, staring down at her feet.

"Saibhir!" Hollins said as he came in behind her. "What're you doing, loitering in here? There'll be time for chit-chat later."

Mutely, she nodded, and turned to steer the Death Eater to the holding cells. She could feel Caitlyn's eyes on her back, long after moving out of her sight.

* * *

Caitlyn sat at her desk in shock. The _werewolf_ was working as an Auror? Impossible! Nobody would ever want a creature like _that_ in charge of catching Dark wizards. What would they do when she turned on them and joined the other side?

Her father had worked for the Werewolf Capture Unit when she was a child and he'd told her stories of how dangerous they were; he even had a few scars to prove it. There was no doubt in her mind that the werewolf in the Ministry was any different.

She had to do something.

When her lunch break came, she went to the private Floo call stations, threw a pinch of powder into the fire, and stuck her head in. "Jessica!"

There was a yelp from the next room over and the sound of running feet, then Jessica appeared, kneeling by the fireplace. "Cait! I didn't think I'd hear from you so soon! How's the job so far? Have you seen Harry Potter yet?"

"Not yet, but listen, Jess, I need your help."

"What's the matter?"

Caitlyn swallowed. "The freak is here. And she's working as an _Auror_."

Jessica gasped. "A werewolf in the Ministry?!"

"I know, I couldn't believe it, either," Caitlyn said. "We could _all_ be in danger right now, and nobody even knows! Do you still have those photos?"

"One moment." Jessica got up and ran out of sight. Caitlyn waited for a few minutes, shifting anxiously on her side of the fireplace and feeling very exposed. She could be attacked any minute. The werewolf wanted her dead, she knew that much. It wouldn't surprise her if she took the earliest opportunity to finish her off.

Jessica returned, clutching the somewhat-faded stack of photographs in her hands. "Be careful," she said. "There's no telling what that thing might do. I'm surprised she's made it this far." She slid the photos into Caitlyn's mouth. Caitlyn nodded her thanks and stepped away, pulling her head out of the fireplace and the pictures out of her mouth to inspect them. If the freak lying on the floor in her underwear with all her scars on display wasn't enough to convince anyone, she'd just have to get more creative.

She returned to the office just in time to see Hollins, yawning hugely, on his way to the door. He was the werewolf's mentor, he was the one in immediate danger. She had to tell him.

She began to sniffle, using the very useful trick she'd learned that would make herself cry, and ran forward, tears now streaming down her face in earnest. "Mr. Hollins!" she cried. "Mr. Hollins, wait! I need to talk to you!"

The Auror turned around, his eyes widening when he saw the sobbing young woman. "What's the matter?" he asked, catching her by the shoulders. "Are you alright?"

"No," she said, her lip trembling.

"Here, let's go in here, come on," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her into one of the interrogation rooms. "What happened?"

"Th-that Saibhir girl, she, she, she—"

"Okay, calm down. Deep breaths. There you go. Tell me what happened."

"She's a werewolf!" Caitlyn burst out.

Mr. Hollins' eyes widened, then he frowned. "That is a very serious accusation to make," he said. "I suggest you choose your next words caref—"

"It's true, though," Caitlyn said urgently. "She never liked me, we were in school together, and she was always threatening to do horrible stuff to me!" Well, that wasn't exactly true, but if she hadn't made the first move, she knew it would have happened—and she _had_ threatened to go after Jessica in sixth year! Her concerns were _more_ than justified. "She shared a dorm with my friend Jessica, and tried to outright attack her! She just went crazy and—well, look!" she pulled out the pictures. "Jessica had to body-bind her before she could get bitten but the teachers never believed us, they said we faked these photos, she's been allowed to run loose and nobody's thought to stop her. And now you have her locking up Dark wizards? She's a _spy_ , you know what werewolves are like!"

Oh, right, tears. Had to keep crying to make it look more effective. Though at this point she wasn't exactly acting; she thought she'd been free of that menace for good now, and running into her old foe was enough to leave her shaken.

"A-and today when she came into the office and saw me, she said if I didn't quit she was going to bite me on the next full moon! Pease, Mr. Hollins, that's just tomorrow, I don't have any way to defend myself, please, you have to do something!"

So what if the bitch hadn't said it? It was obvious from the way she'd looked at her that she was certainly thinking it. Too many years without someone to keep her in check had made her dangerous; it was time someone put a stop to this before she hurt someone.

Mr. Hollins stared down at the pictures. He didn't speak for a long time.

"I don't want to believe it," he said, his voice trembling. "She's been a good student the last two years, I thought for sure she would go far…"

"She's been pretending this whole time," Caitlyn said, clinging to his arm. "She's a spy, and you've just turned her into a very competent and very dangerous one!"

"I don't know about spy," Mr. Hollins said slowly, "but it's certainly suspicious she never mentioned it." He shuddered when he thought back to the times they'd had to camp together overnight while on stakeout. So many times she could have ripped his throat open. "Unfortunately, I can't lock her up just because she's a monster—" His lip curled. "But I can certainly dismiss her for now and bring the matter to Mr. Potter's attention. Miss Rosenberger, thank you very much for telling me this. I'll make sure there's a guard at your house tomorrow in case the werewolf follows through on her threat, even if I have to do it myself."

Caitlyn sniffled and nodded. "I don't think I could survive if I didn't say something."

"You did the right thing," Mr. Hollins said, gripping her shoulders. "I have to go now, but if you want to take the rest of the day off, I'll make sure you don't get in trouble for it. You've been through a lot of stress."

"And the werewolf?" Caitlyn asked tremulously.

Mr. Hollins' lips thinned. "I'll tell her when we come back for our shift tonight."


	9. Chapter 9

She sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her wand, hands shaking in anger. Kicked out. Kicked out of the Auror program because of her condition. Had nothing changed in the last seventeen years? Minister Shacklebolt had been working on repealing years of legislation; Hogwarts had accepted her without any problems. It wasn't like she'd done poorly in school, either.

But no. Her eyes welled up with tears as she remembered the meeting, when her mentor had called her into his office. He couldn't even look her in the eye as he said she would have to go. " _I'm… ah, sorry, but I'm afraid we can't let you stay because of a recent discovery about your, ah, medical history, so if you'll please get out of my office_ right now—"

She screamed in frustration and flopped backwards, slamming her fists against the mattress. Her lifelong dream ever since she'd found out she was a witch and not just some Muggleborn product of a freak accident (if it was even that) had been ripped away from her in an instant. She hated thinking the words, but it wasn't _fair._ Why her? Why couldn't she be allowed to stay? She was just as good as any of the other trainees.

 _Why did any of this have to happen to me?_ she thought. _Why couldn't I have just been a Muggle? A_ normal _one, I mean._

Her fists clenched. She couldn't stay here. Not for long. She stood and pocketed her wand, limping over to the window and pushing the curtains aside. Outside, the moon shone bright overhead, a brilliant waxing gibbous, and she shivered as she pressed her hands to the cold glass.

Maybe she would be able to regain her spot in the course. She'd sent in a formal complaint, sure—but what good would that do if nobody who cared saw it? And even if somebody _did_ care enough to help her get her life back on track… did she really want to go back and face more humiliation? Leaving her mentor's office, feeling the stares and hearing the jeering of her peers, had been painful. Returning to be subjected to that, possibly worse?

No. She didn't want that.

 _Dammit, woman! Aren't you a Gryffindor?_

 _...Not right now, I'm not._

She Disapparated; in her current state of distress, she didn't have any particular destination in mind. When she realized that, she'd already appeared someplace else, and she lost her balance, toppling over as she frantically patted herself down, looking for signs of splinching.

Nothing. Her shoulders sagged with relief. Now where was she?

There were trees, a path. Benches, streetlamps. Cages?

Oh. A zoo. ZSL, if the logo on the sign beside her was anything to go by. It was after-hours, so she was alone save for the snuffling of the animals.

"Who's there?"

Oh. Crap, right, there would be guards. She pulled out her wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself before pressing herself against the wall of the reptile house. The guard walked right past her, looking around for some sign of the _crack_ he must have heard.

When he had passed, she set off in the opposite direction, shoving her hands in her pockets and losing herself in her thoughts.

Even if she did get her spot back, she'd be an outcast. _Daily Prophet_ reporters would be trumpeting the headlines for weeks, if not months: 'Werewolf Infiltrates Ministry, Brainwashes Head Auror'.

Caitlyn was behind this, she was sure of it. Her fists clenched in her pockets at the thought.

She'd sacrificed herself to save her friend and this was the thanks she'd been given for it. Where was the _justice?_ How was this _fair?_

...Since when did she ever ask if things were fair or not? Nothing was fair. It wasn't fair that she'd been bitten. It wasn't fair that she was disfigured. Crippled. Scared of the world and of herself. It wasn't fair that she had been kicked out.

It didn't matter if it was fair or not, and whining about it to herself wouldn't matter, either.

She kept walking.

The animals were fairly active at night, and some of them came up to the edges of their enclosures to watch her curiously. Even though she was under the cover of the Disillusionment Charm, they could still easily smell her, she was sure. She stopped by the wolf enclosure, where they stopped their pacing against the fence and watched her curiously with bright, intelligent eyes.

They were nothing like the monster that had attacked her that night fifteen years ago. That _thing_ had been an evil, snarling beast with fetid breath and a mangy pelt—

She shuddered and shook her head to clear out the memories. One of the wolves whined, rearing up on its hind legs and scrabbling against the fence with its front paws. She knew it was just being curious, but she still took a step back out of reflex before turning and walking away.

A light breeze rustled the treetops and tickled her scalp. She shivered and pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up to protect her ears. Winter was approaching quickly. Now that she was out of a job, she'd have to find some place to stay.

Her parents'? She _could_ return to them, but just imagining the looks of disappointment on their faces when she showed up at their doorstep was enough to make her eyes sting, and she reached up to wipe her eyes. She couldn't do that to them. Besides, the last thing she needed to do was lead the wizarding world to their doorstep, especially if Hollins' accusation of her being a spy was found true—

"Oh god," she whispered, stopping in her tracks.

What chance did a werewolf have in this legal system? It would be Salem all over again, only instead of being lucky enough to get hanged, she'd be thrown into Azkaban. She'd never survive; when she'd accompanied Hollins there to check on the attempts at removing the Dementors, she'd ended up having to be taken back to the mainland when she collapsed, twitching and frothing at the mouth.

The Dementors were mostly gone now, but if a lone one had escaped the Ministry's efforts at purging them from the prison, she'd never survive.

Hell, even if the Dementors were truly gone, she wouldn't survive anyway. The damage she'd cause to herself during transformations would go untreated and she would die of either blood loss or infection.

Then again, she was a werewolf. She wouldn't put it past them to order her execution outright.

 _No. No, think, there has to be something you can do_.

 _You could put a stop to this,_ a little voice whispered in her mind. _You could make sure this never happens to anyone again._

She paused in the middle of the path, gnawing on her lip. Hunt down the werewolf that had ruined her life? Could she even do that?

Was there any reason why she _couldn't?_

She was an Auror in all but title now; she was more than capable of defending herself. She knew what the werewolf looked like, and if her suspicions about his identity were correct… well, how many werewolves could there be that looked and acted exactly like the descriptions of Fenrir Greyback?

Her entire body was trembling at this point and she shakily sat down on a bench, putting her head in her hands.

She'd need to find somewhere to sleep tonight, of course. Just so long as there was a roof to keep rain off, she could cast a few cushioning and warming charms and be plenty comfortable. She could Apparate back to her tiny flat and stuff some clothes in a bag for the road. And tomorrow…

She frowned and looked up at the sky, where the moon shone innocently.

She'd think of something.


	10. Chapter 10

"You wanted to see me, Hollins?" Mr. Potter said as he came into his office. He shut the door behind him and sat down.

Hollins nodded, rubbing his forehead. "There's… a bit of a problem with my… _pupil_ , Mr. Potter."

"Saibhir, right? What did she do?"

"Not so much what she _did_ as what she _is_. She's a _werewolf_."

There was a pause. Mr. Potter tilted his head to the side, as if he expected to hear more.

"And?" he finally said when none was forthcoming.

"And… so I let her go."

Mr. Potter's eyes narrowed. "I suggest you think very carefully about your next words," he said.

" _Carefully?_ Sir, she was a monster, a monster who put us all—"

"I was completely aware of her condition when I accepted her application," Mr. Potter said, standing up.

"Then why didn't you inform the rest of us?" Hollins demanded, standing as well.

"She requested it be kept private," Mr. Potter said, his brows drawn together. "Specifically in case anyone reacted like you are now! Are you still living two decades ago? The Minister himself is working on repealing anti-werewolf legislation because, surprise, _they are not monsters!_ "

Hollins took a step back. "Sir, with all due respect—"

"Respect?" Mr. Potter said. "Where was your respect when you were sacking a nineteen year old kid?"

" _Monster_."

"One of my dad's best friends and the father of my godson was a werewolf and he was no monster," Mr. Potter said, his fists clenching. He took a deep breath and straightened up. "I'll be speaking to you about this later. But for now—where did she go?"

Hollins snorted. "I told her to go back to whatever hol—ome she had. But sir, the new secretary said she was spying for the other side, and threatened to attack her tonight. Don't you think we should look into that?"

Mr. Potter paused. While it was certainly a serious accusation, and one he would be forced to look into, it wouldn't entirely surprise him if it had been leveled against Saibhir out of spite.

"I will look into it personally," he said. "And Hollins, if— _when_ I find out she's perfectly innocent, you'd best start clearing out your desk."

* * *

Mr. Potter Apparated outside the tiny flat and sighed when he heard frantic movement coming from within.

He sighed again and knocked; the sounds stopped for a moment before resuming at a faster pace.

"If you don't open this door, Saibhir, I'm opening it myself," he said.

No response.

"Three…"

Pounding footsteps.

"Two…"

A bag was zipped up.

He tapped the doorknob with his wand and threw the door open just in time to catch a glimpse of a white-faced Saibhir Disapparate.

He looked around the ramshackle flat and ran his hands through his hair. She'd run, yes, and while that was certainly suspicious, maybe he could find some clues as to where she was going or what she was planning.

A lone stuffed Dalmatian toy sat on the rickety bed, forgotten in the girl's rush to leave. He picked it up, gently. His own kids weren't much younger than she was, and she and Teddy were the same age, if he remembered correctly. He couldn't even imagine James, or Albus, or Lily going through what Saibhir must be feeling right now.

He set the toy down on the bed and looked around. There was a calendar pinned to the wall, painstakingly counting down the days until the next full moon: tonight. A flurry of maps that had been tucked on a shelf were spilling over an open book on the counter below. He pushed the maps to the side and found it was a record of known werewolf attacks throughout the centuries.

There was nothing unusual about the book as he flipped through the first few pages, but when he reached the 1950s, things started getting interesting. Saibhir had circled specific attacks:

 _December 13, 1951 - Samuel Veritas, 5 - Killed. Body found near home in Little Kressinghen._

 _April 18, 1954 - Ruth Raleigh, 7 - Bitten, status unknown. Discovered in home in Northwold._

It was an incomplete list, he could tell, judging by the blank spots between different months. It wouldn't surprise him if many attacks went unreported; a lot still did, even to this day.

It was when he noticed Saibhir's untidy scrawl that he finally began to piece together what she was doing.

 _February 16, 1965 - Remus Lupin, 4 - Bitten, survived. Home ?_

And, a few pages after that:

 _March 28, 2002 - Freak, 4 - Bitten, survived. Back garden, Lakenheath._

So she was going after Greyback. He sighed as he looked down at the scribbled word she'd used in place of her name. How much did one have to hate oneself before willingly using that name? He looked at the maps that had been strewn about the desk and picked up the one marked in red. Several towns circled in ink surrounded Thetford Forest, upon which Saibhir had drawn a large X. So that was where she was headed first.

Mr. Potter picked up the map, folded it, and tucked it inside the book before picking up the stuffed toy and contemplating it.

If ever there was a werewolf that could truly be called a monster, it was Greyback. He was almost amazed that nobody had thought to track him this way before, but then he remembered how incompetent the Ministry had been during his childhood and snorted.

"Good on you, Saibhir," he said. "I'll see if I can't find you tomorrow."

* * *

A/N: And so we get into the meat of the plot...


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Fair warning, this chapter gets graphic.

* * *

She'd managed to get away before whoever had come knocking could catch her. She hadn't really registered his face; she'd caught only a glimpse before she'd turned and Disapparated.

She appeared in the middle of Thetford Forest, as far away from any human settlements as she could manage. Her skin was already beginning to crawl and her head was pounding as the moon came closer to rising.

Feeling extremely exposed, she began to strip, stuffing her clothes and wand into her bag before picking a tree she was capable of climbing. She didn't need to go very far, just high enough that a crazed werewolf wouldn't be able to rip her precious belongings to shreds.

She hooked the bag strap over a branch just before she spasmed, falling a good seven feet to the ground. Her bare skin tore when she landed on jagged stones and dead branches, and she cried out in pain.

The pain was short lived, however, as it was quickly replaced with a new kind of pain. Her body writhed and her mind burned, and soon, she was replaced with a beast.

The werewolf got to its paws and shook itself, nostrils flaring when it caught the scent of a human. Its back left leg dangled uselessly as it ran forward, snuffling about the base of the tree where the scent of fresh blood was strongest. Unable to find anything to savage, though, it howled in frustration.

Its head whipped around when its howl was answered by a chorus of howls deeper in the forest. It _knew_ they belonged to its kind, and it eagerly galloped towards the howls.

It soon encountered the other werewolves. The pack of five encircled the newcomer, yipping and barking. Some of them were curious, others cautious.

One of them approached the stranger, sniffing and wagging its tail. They exchanged yips, but then six heads shot up in unison when the wind shifted, blowing the scent of human in their direction.

 _Food._

They galloped off. Finding out about the strange newcomer could wait. For now, though, they hunted.

* * *

She groaned and opened her eyes blearily. When she saw the scene before her, she catapulted into a sitting position, feeling like she was going to be sick.

She was sitting in a campground, deep in the woods, surrounded by five other scarred and naked humans. Beside her, though, was a ravaged corpse, a bloody mess of bones and trailing bits of flesh, its skull missing, its corpse so badly mangled it was impossible to tell what it looked like before.

She felt something stuck in her teeth and, fearing the worst, slowly reached up with a shaking hand to pluck it out.

When she saw the meaty bit of tendon in her fingers, she could hold it together no longer and began to vomit. As soon as it seemed like she was done, she'd look at the corpse and realize just what it was she was regurgitating, and she'd throw up again.

"Easy there," a man said, crouching beside her. Vaguely, she registered that the hand he placed on her arm was missing several fingers. "Never tasted a human before?"

At his words, she just retched again.

"I thought that was a _fine_ hunt," a woman with a mane of tangled blonde hair said, rolling over to lie on her back. She began picking at her teeth, which were black and rotting. She had a large, fresh gash on her arm, crusted with dried blood. "Shame it was just the one, but hey! You got to taste quality, right there. Nice and lean; I think he must have been a ranger of some sort."

"Oh, now you think you can tell humans' occupations by their taste?" A one-eyed boy who couldn't have been more than eight years old said.

The woman laughed. "It's the _badge_ , fuckwit," she said, plucking the bloody piece of metal from the dirt and lobbing it at the boy's head. He simply reached up and caught it from the air.

"Shut it, Faith," the three-fingered man said. "We've got fresh blood here."

"Sooner she gets used to it, the better off she'll be," another man said, standing up and going to the shredded remains of the tent, beginning to shift through them. "Benny, give me a hand here."

The one-eyed boy got up and hurried to join him in looking through the wreckage of the campsite.

 _I did this,_ she thought, staring dumbly at the nightmare before her. _I killed, I ate, I helped them hunt this man or woman down and kill them and mutilate them and—_ She couldn't even cry. She was too numb from the shock.

"Hey. Kid. What's your name?" the three-fingered man asked. "I'm George."

She went blank for a moment. "Romilly," she lied. If word of what she'd done got back to the Ministry, she was a dead woman for sure. As it was, though… she didn't think she could live with herself _now_.

"How'd you get out here, Romilly?" George asked. "We're a long way from civilization."

"I… I Apparated," she said uncertainly.

Five heads whipped around to look at her. "A witch?" the man in the tent said eagerly. "With a wand?"

"She'd have to have a wand, how else could she have Apparated?" Faith raised her eyebrows at her. "Question is how she _got_ a wand."

"Ah—stole it off a wizard," she said, drawing herself up and forcing herself to sound fierce. "The bastard had it coming to him, talking shit about our kind, threatening to kill me. So I killed him first and took it from him."

Benny's eye went huge. "Whooooa," he said. "That is _so_ cool!"

"Where'd you Apparate to?" George said. "We can go find your wand, take you with us back to our camp. A _wand_ …"

She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable with all the attention, and swallowed. She felt a sliver of meat slide down her throat and she threw up again.

"Jeez, grow a spine already," Faith sneered.

The last werewolf, who had been quiet up until this point, waved her hand for attention, then made a slashing motion across her heavily-scarred throat. Faith just rolled her eyes.

"Drop it, Faith," George growled.

"Alright, I think we've got everything," the man in the tent said. "Got a little gas stove, some food—chocolate, even—new clothes. Looks like they'll fit you, Jabber."

Jabber huffed through her nose and made some quick motions with her hands; the newly-dubbed Romilly realized she must have been a mute.

"Really?" Benny said, smiling. "Thank you!" He picked up a scavenged shirt and pulled it over his head, running his fingers over the fabric. "It even smells clean!" he said delightedly. Jabber smiled and ruffled his hair, and he hugged her tightly.

"Let's go find Romilly's wand, and then we'll head back to camp," George said. He accepted the bundle wrapped in torn tent canvas from the other werewolf. "Oh, before I forget—I'm George, the one with the attitude problem is Faith, Jabber's the quiet one, Benny's the little one, and that dick in the tent is Mitch."

"I'm not as big a dick as you," Mitch retorted, hefting his bundle over his shoulder and stepping over the mangled corpse.

"True, but I also have a bigger dick," George replied, wagging his hips, and the werewolves positively howled with laughter.

This was normal for them, she realized. The senseless murder, the casual attitude toward nudity, scavenging supplies off their kills—her heart sank as she began limping after them. The wizarding world's attitude towards werewolves was more justified than she'd thought. These people were little better than animals.

And she was becoming one of them, she realized, glancing back at the dead ranger. Her stomach churned and she hurried after the werewolves. She was doing this for a good cause, she told herself. The ranger would have died even if she hadn't been there. She was going to find Greyback and stop this sort of thing…

Before she did anything worse.

They walked through the forest, following Faith. The wild-haired woman kept crouching occasionally to touch a crumpled leaf or turned-over stone, then she would nod, straighten up, and keep walking.

"You have to kind of ignore Faith," George muttered to her as they walked. "She's… a bit out there, as far as most of us go. We just keep her around because we'd never find our way back to camp without her."

She nodded, focusing on placing her feet on the ground so she didn't step on anything sharp. The scratches on her back still stung from where she'd landed the night before. She noticed that the others' feet were so calloused that they didn't bother to watch where they stepped, and she wondered how long they'd been living out here.

"You alright?" George said. "You're awfully quiet."

She shrugged.

"If it's about that ranger…" He sighed. "It's regrettable, but we can't exactly help it. You get used to it after a while."

She glanced up at him. "So you…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "You don't go out of your way to hunt?"

"Merlin's beard, of course not," he said, wrinkling his nose. "People getting killed in the forest are chalked up to animal attacks, but it's still not the kind of attention we like to get. Much better to steal here and there from campers and not raise too many suspicions."

"And, you know, not kill anyone," she said, biting her lip.

George shrugged. "Be nice if we didn't have to worry about that, but it happens sometimes. Like I said… you get used to it."

 _You shouldn't have to be used to it,_ she wanted to say, but she was here to integrate, not interrogate, so she kept her mouth shut.

"The trail splits here," Faith announced, pointing in two different directions. "Looks like the weakling came from this direction."

"Can it," George said.

Faith just snorted and waved them after her.

She was quiet as they walked, her mind going back to the ranger they had killed. Judging by the clothes Benny was wearing, the ranger had been a woman. Had she been a mother? A sister? A wife? She had friends waiting for her back home, at the very least. And she'd had a job. Loved it or hated it, it didn't matter now because she was dead. _Eaten_.

And she was responsible for it. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. She'd never been particularly spiritual, but she sent a silent apology to the woman, knowing it could never be enough.

These werewolves were out here, though, because they had no other choice. If she could do what she'd set out to do, though, and get rid of Greyback…

It wouldn't be enough, either.

She nearly tripped at the realization. This was so much bigger than she could ever hope to fix by herself.

Oh god, what was she doing? Oh god oh god oh god oh god.

She was in _way_ over her head.


	12. Chapter 12

They found her belongings with little trouble, and Benny was helpful enough to scamper up the tree to retrieve her bag for her. Feeling rather self-conscious, she got dressed while the others exclaimed over her wand.

She would have to keep an eye on that. If one of them got the idea to run off with it… Well, she wasn't going to let that happen.

At George's request, she summoned everyone else's clothing as well. While they were getting dressed, Benny wandered over to her and poked her in the ribs. She yelped and jerked away, but relaxed slightly (only slightly) when she saw it was just him. "Yes?"

"Where'd you get those tattoos?" he asked curiously. "They're pretty."

She blinked down at him for a moment. Pretty? "I, er, I did them myself," she said. "With magic."

"Wicked," he breathed. His eye shone. "And you're a witch and everything?"

"I, er, well, I am," she said, scrambling to think up a lie on the spot. She hadn't expected to run into werewolves so soon.

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

"Ah, I never went to Hogwarts, but I scavenged books and things. I kind of know what I'm doing."

"Can you give me back my eye?" Benny asked, and his question broke her heart.

"I can't," she said, biting her lip when his face fell. "Healing magic is very difficult, and even if I had the skill, eyes are too complex to repair…"

Benny's face fell even further, and she hastened to add, "Besides, there's nothing magic can do for cursed wounds."

"It's not cursed, dickhead," Faith said, pulling on a ratty coat. "His beloved mum cut it out of his face when he was bit last year."

Her stomach plummeted and Benny looked down. Jabber wrapped an arm around his shoulders and glared at Faith.

"Let's head back to camp," George said, a bit more loudly than necessary.

Faith grumbled under her breath but set off. Jabber knelt and Benny climbed onto her back, clinging to her like a baby monkey.

"So, Romilly," Faith said, glancing back as they walked, "what went and fucked your face up?"

She flinched, and Faith gave a wicked grin, showing off every one of her rotting teeth.

"Leave her alone, Faith, you know the rule," George said tiredly.

"Not like she isn't gonna share at some point," Faith muttered. "Might as well get the whinging out of the way now. Boo-hoo, people look at me funny because I got half my face ripped off—"

Benny let out a tiny whimper and hid his face against Jabber's shoulder. George's own face darkened and he strode forward, grabbing Faith by the arm and backhanding her.

"You keep your mouth shut," George snapped, and Faith spat at him.

She watched the exchange, hand on her wand, unsure of what to do. George was clearly the leader; if she stepped in, he'd see it as a challenge to his authority, and Faith wouldn't appreciate her saying anything, either. That didn't keep her from feeling ill as she stood by and watched it happen, though, and she closed her eyes.

 _This is their normal,_ she told herself. _Intervene and you'll be found out in an instant. Focus on the mission_.

How much was she going to pretend to accept before she really _did_ start accepting them?

No, she wasn't going to let that happen.

The two didn't seem interested in taking it any farther, though, and after a moment, the little group resumed walking.

The sun was already high overhead when they finally reached camp. She wasn't sure why she'd expected it to look any different, a ragtag group of tents strung up between a cluster of trees, made of scraps of tarp that looked like they'd been scavenged from the wreckage of Muggle campsites. A damp fire pit lay in the center of the campsite, and George nodded at it as they approached. "Think you can get that lit?"

A flick of her wand and a whispered word, and a crackling fire sprung up, burning without fuel. Benny let out a small gasp and scrambled down from Jabber's back, running forward to crouch by the fire. She smiled at his enthusiasm, but the smile faded when she remembered how this innocent-looking child had so casually looted the campsite of a person he'd _eaten_.

 _Not like you didn't eat her, too_.

She turned away and retched, but her stomach was empty and all she choked up was bile.

"Try and keep the ruckus down," Faith said, crawling into one of the tents. "I'm going to sleep."

Mitch and Jabber exchanged eyerolls and Mitch set his bag of loot down.

"Feel free to stick around or wander off," George said, untying his own loot bag and kneeling to inspect its contents. "Couplea rules if you decide to come back: If you don't make a tent, you're sleeping outside. You don't help contribute to food, you're not getting any to eat. You listen to me and do as I say. Don't touch what doesn't belong to you. Understand?"

She gave a curt nod before walking away. "I'm going to set up a perimeter," she said, biting her lip when Faith snarled, " _Keep it down!_ "

" _Salvio Hexia,_ " she said quietly, wand raised to the sky. " _Protego Totalum_. _Cave Inimicum._ _Pro—_ "

Her head whipped around when she heard a _crack_ deep in the forest. To the untrained, it would have just sounded like a branch snapping, but she could hear the way it resonated. Someone had just Apparated nearby.

She looked around to see if any of the others had heard, but they were too busy settling down and going through their spoils. She bit her lip and set off deeper into the forest, grateful for her stealth training. She kept her ears pricked and her eyes open; every ten steps she cast a local magic detection charm, but to no such luck. Whoever it was, they were staying under the radar.

About a mile in, she suddenly paused, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling; she could have sworn she'd heard the light swishing of a cloak. " _Homenum Revelio._ "

Not five feet away from her, an invisible man glowed, and she reacted in a heartbeat, firing off a rapid succession of stunners. The man dodged to the side, Invisibility Cloak falling off him, and she realized with a start who it was.

"Wait!" Mr. Potter cried, holding up his hands. "Hold your fire!"

She kept her wand trained on him, but lowered it when he set his own on the ground. "I'm just here to talk to you," he said, and took a step forward.

She took a step back.

"Saibhir." His voice was gentle, but firm. "Put your wand down and let's discuss this, Auror to Auror."

She laughed bitterly. "I'm not an Auror."

"You would've been if you'd stayed," Mr. Potter said, shrugging. He sat down on the grass and motioned for her to join him. That convinced her to at least tuck her wand in her belt and hesitantly join him, sitting in front of him and awkwardly stretching her bad leg out to the side.

"So what's going on?" Mr. Potter said. His green eyes held no hint of malice to them, and she relaxed slightly.

"You're not here to arrest me?"

"Only if I have to," he said, and held up a hand when she flinched. "But I want to hear your side of the story first."

"My side," she repeated flatly.

"Yes."

"Of the story."

"Yes."

She let out a huff of laughter and put her head in her hands. "I don't know why I got kicked out. I've got a vague idea, but…" She realized Mr. Potter was waiting for her to go on. "I mean, Hollins said Caitlyn—the new secretary—told him I'd threatened to bite her, was spying for the werewolves—" She glanced behind her, in the direction of the camp, and gulped. "This isn't what it looks like, I swear."

"So what does it look like?"

"I… I was scared I'd be found guilty and killed," she said, ducking her head. "The trial would be rigged against me regardless of my innocence. So I ran."

"You went to find Greyback," Mr. Potter corrected, and her head shot up. He gave a dry smile. "You left a fair bit of evidence in your flat when you left," he said. "Along with this." He reached into his robes and produced—

" _Spot,_ " she breathed, accepting the stuffed toy from him.

"My main question, though," Mr. Potter said, shifting uncomfortably, "is why would the new secretary want to accuse you of that stuff in the first place?"

"I… I don't kn…"

 _Now is not the time to hide. He needs to know the truth if you want to get out of this mess._

She took a deep breath. "Caitlyn and I were best friends as kids. Her dad worked for the Werewolf Capture Unit, a-and…"

 _Your daddy did a very bad thing, Caitlyn._

Greyback's words came rushing into her head and she flinched. "He thought I was Caitlyn. G-Greyback, I mean. He didn't like something her dad had done and went after me on accident. She's hated me ever since… thinks I'm a monster…" She looked away.

Mr. Potter took a deep breath. "I believe you," he said, and her shoulders sagged with relief. "However—"

Of course. There was always something.

"—you have a point about the trial being rigged against you. So…" He rubbed his chin, thinking, and smiled. "So we're going to make the accusations at least partially true."

"What?" she yelped.

Mr. Potter grinned. "How would you like to go on a special assignment for me?"

Understanding slowly dawned on her. "You want me to become an official spy for you."

"Live underground with the werewolves, learn what you can, do your best to find out about Greyback," he said, nodding. "He escaped after the Battle of Hogwarts and we've had no word of his whereabouts for years save for the occasional report of a bitten child. I'd like to tie up any loose threads, and quite frankly I'm kicking myself for not doing it sooner." He gave a tight smile. "And in the meantime, I'll have an official record of you reporting back to me."

She nodded, straightening up and suddenly feeling a little better about this whole mess. "Yessir, Mr. Potter." Now all she had to do was hope the dead ranger and her part in that never came to light. She knew the law—she could and likely _would_ be put to death for that.

She deserved it, too.

"One more thing," Mr. Potter said, and she blanched, wondering if he was going to bring that up. "There wouldn't happen to be a boy named Benjamin Wegman in your group, would there?"

 _Benny._ She frowned. "How did you know?"

"The Trace went off earlier this morning," Mr. Potter said. "Records show he'd died last year, but today…" He started ticking off on his fingers. "Summoning charm this morning, then an hour after that, a fire-starting charm, several protection wards…" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"That was me," she said.

He nodded. "I told the Improper Use of Magic Office I'd look into it personally," he said. "I was curious, since I knew you were headed this way. Looks like I'll have to let the Department of Magical Law Enforcement know to reopen that case."

"One of the… One of the werewolves said his mum cut his eye out and kicked him out of the house," she said quietly, and Mr. Potter's knuckles went white. _I must not tell lies_ stood out on the back of his hand.

"I'll definitely be sure to let them know," he said, and stood up. He offered a hand to her, and she took it after a moment. "Keep in contact with me via Patronus. I want a report every morning at nine and every evening at six, if you can. I don't want to contact you at the wrong time and give you away to the others."

She nodded. "Yessir."

"And Saibhir? Good luck." Mr. Potter Disapparated, and she finally allowed herself to sag with relief.

Her first official solo assignment. Okay, so it was pretty unconventional as it was, but she felt a little more confident knowing she had _Harry Potter_ , of all people, backing her. She'd find a way to take down the leader of the werewolves scattered through the forest, and maybe it would be enough to start making amends for the death she'd caused.

Her fingers tightened around her wand, and she began walking back to camp.


	13. Chapter 13

He jabbed his wand at the fire pit, and crackling flames sprung up. He tucked his wand back in his coat and held his hands over the fire, shivering slightly. There was a nip in the air that hadn't been there the last few days. Winter was coming.

He frowned slightly at the thought. Partly, he was upset at the reminder that at the rate things were going in the forest, he might not ever get to find out the end to that series, but mostly, he was worried about survival. Though George had assured him the werewolves were used to doing it year in and year out, he couldn't help but worry at how they would manage in their shabby tents.

And that wasn't even considering he was no closer to finding Greyback than he had been a week ago. He'd tried floating questions to the rest of the werewolves, but the most he'd gotten out of anyone was a shrug from George in regards to other packs living in the forest. They were out there, he'd said, but most tended to keep to themselves.

And the memory of the dead ranger kept haunting him. The image of the savaged corpse rose to the front of his mind and he stood up abruptly. "I'm going out," he said to Jabber. "Just going to see if I can find some squirrels or something."

Jabber gave him a lazy thumbs-up and went back to her whittling.

He made his way deeper into the forest, where he was sure he wouldn't be seen by the others, and gathered his thoughts.

 _I'm working with Mr. Potter. I'm going to catch Greyback and help put an end to the biting of children. I'm going to get my job back. If I'm not arrested for murdering and_ eating _somebody._

 _Wait, shit, that's not happy. Er…_

It took him several minutes to compose himself enough to send off a Patronus. There was nothing new to report, other than Benny accidentally setting one of the tents on fire with accidental magic. Faith had been teasing him again.

Mocking.

He wanted so badly to give Benny a hug and try to protect him from the same things he'd had to endure as a child, but what could he possibly hope to accomplish? Benny had already endured so much more than he… and Benny killed without a second thought. Looted the corpses of his monthly hunts.

They all did.

He dreaded the next full moon, what it would entail. Though maybe…

Maybe he could try something similar to what he and his parents had resorted to as he'd gotten older and stronger. It wasn't like he was inexperienced with the wandwork required, though it would take some time to transfigure and enchant the raw materials necessary to make restraints, out here in the wilderness.

It would at least prevent any more needless death.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, looking around the forest. They'd come this way after that night… Maybe…

He began walking.

The tracks were a week old, but a set of paw prints in one direction and footprints in the other were hard to miss, even as faded as they were. Every so often, he would lose the trail, then spot a broken twig or a few grey hairs caught on a bush, and he'd press on.

He walked for what felt like ages, weighed down by the thought of what awaited him. He would find the poor ranger and give them a proper burial; it was the least he could do as an apology for _eating_ them.

It was the only thing he could do.

The smell hit him before he reached the site. The smell of rotten meat wasn't unfamiliar to him; his own leg had turned gangrenous when he was a child and he'd been rushed to St. Mungo's posthaste to treat it. Remembering the stench from the Healer unwrapping the bandage, coupled with the smell assaulting his nostrils now, made him pause to retch, and he quickly cast a bubble-head charm on himself.

He pushed aside a bush and found the clearing. The carcass was well-decayed now, and covered with maggots and buzzing flies. A raven flew off at his approach, a strip of meat clutched in its beak. He frowned as he approached. Now that the shock had (mostly) worn off and he could stand to look at the carcass, something seemed off. It was the right size for a human, but the shape of the ribcage was wrong. He looked around for more bones, and found in the dirt a long, yellowed canine tooth.

He gingerly plucked it from the ground, bouncing the tooth on his palm. None of the pack had lost a tooth that night, he knew, and a small spark of hope flared in his chest.

He scanned the ground for prints, but after so long, time had worn away anything that wasn't already lost in the scuffle of battle. Manual searching it was, then.

He began searching the bushes that encircled the clearing. A piece of vertebra, a clump of fur stuck to a bush with dry blood. Whatever had happened that night, it had been brutal, if parts had been flung this far away from the body.

Finally, he found it. Torn away from the neck and missing a tooth, lying in the bushes where it had been thrown, was the skull of a dog. A massive dog, too, judging from the size of the head and body, he thought, levitating the head back to the body. He still felt terrible—after all, this poor beast had likely been the ranger's pet—but whoever they were, they were still alive.

He sat on a log by the edge of the clearing and put his head in his hands, forcing himself to think back to that night, to try and remember what had happened.

He only caught flashes, fuzzy recollections of smell and sound and taste, but they were enough to piece things together. They'd come across the campsite to find the dog, a Leonberger, alert and growling, guarding its master.

The werewolves attempted to attack the ranger—he couldn't remember if any of them had bitten or not—but the dog held them off long enough for the ranger to get into their car.

The werewolves had been enraged by their prey escaping and attacked the dog for guarding it.

They were hungry, and there was a fresh kill right there, still smelling strongly like the human whose company it kept. So they ate.

He lifted his head and scanned the edge again. Crushed branches there—from being run over.

His shoulders sagged in relief, and he fell backwards off the log, laughing, tears streaming down his face as he lay among the dead leaves.

The ranger was okay.

He finally picked himself up and used a spell to excavate a grave under a tree. The remains of the dog were gently placed within and covered, and on the tree he carved, _Fiercely loyal and brave to the end._

He stood for a moment over the freshly-turned earth, tears streaming down his face.

"Thank you," he whispered, touching the tree.

* * *

"It was a dog!" he cried joyously, racing into the camp as fast as his lurching gait allowed. "It was a dog we killed the other night! The ranger got away!"

Mitch and George breathed sighs of relief, Benny beamed, and Jabber made excited motions with her hands, but Faith sighed.

"Seriously?" she said, running her tongue over her broken teeth. "I got my arm gashed open for nothing, then? The universe is cruel."

George opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Faith was lifted by an invisible force and slammed against a tree so hard the whole thing shook, scaring birds from its upper boughs.

"I always knew you were twisted from the moment we met," he growled, advancing on her, keeping his wand trained on her throat, "but this? I come back to say we didn't kill an innocent person and you're _upset_ by this?!"

"Romilly—" George snapped, but took a step back when the wand was turned on him. Faith fell to the ground, coughing.

"Don't you fucking try to tell me to back off," he snarled. Benny whimpered and hid behind Jabber. "Now you tell me where the other werewolves in this forest are right now, or so help me I will not hesitate to _Imperio_ your ass and make you show me the way!"

"Romilly, you don't understand," George said urgently. "If I told you, the alpha would serve my head up on a silver platter for giving away—"

"Fuck you and fuck your self-proclaimed alpha!" he exploded. "I'm here to get the werewolf who bit me, and I'm going to do whatever it takes, and then it will be _me_ serving _his_ head up to _my_ boss! So tell me where he is, _NOW!_ "

George held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. I'll tell you," he said. "The main pack is north of here, about a day away on foot. But you can't—"

"Watch me," he snapped. He directed his wand at the main camp and made a large, sweeping motion; his belongings flew into the air and neatly packed themselves into his bag.

He looked back at Benny. "I'm going to make things right for you," he promised. "I'll be back as soon as I can. And Faith?" He turned to her, knuckles white on his wand. "Don't you dare try anything in the meantime."

There was a loud silence in the camp that was finally broken when he turned on his heel and Disapparated.

When he reappeared, the faint smell of smoke reached him, and he turned around, whispering a more advanced version of the Point Me spell. His wand spun in his hand, directing him to the east.

He readjusted his grip, and conjured the silver hare without any trouble this time.

"Message for Mr. Potter," he said. "I've found the camp."


	14. Chapter 14

**Since readers have had some confusion over the issue, the nameless protagonist is genderflud; sometimes she's a she, sometimes he's a he.**

 **On with the story. :)**

* * *

He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and approached the camp slowly, flitting from tree to tree like a ghost.

A limping ghost, but a ghost nonetheless.

The smell of smoke grew stronger as he got closer, and with it came the smell of roasting meat. His mouth watered, but then he remembered Faith, and what she'd likely cook up for herself, and his sudden appetite died immediately.

If this was the main camp, led by Greyback, there was no telling how the werewolves would react to a stranger. Or anyone, really. Best to keep his distance and observe.

There, a gnarled oak with wide branches where he could perch. But there were no branches lower down for him to climb...

He looked around and spotted a fist-sized rock embedded in the dirt. He knelt and prised it out, blowing off the clumps of mud that clung to its surface. He turned it over in his hand until he found a good grip, then cast a levitation spell. The rock began to rise into the air and he clung to it, riding it to the top of the tree until he could grab hold of a bough and pull himself up. The rock fell back to the earth with a dull thud.

He pushed thinner branches out of his face and leaned forward. Barely a few dozen meters away, he could see a large clearing. Several thin tendrils of smoke rose up from campfires dotted here and there, many of them with spits placed over them. The meat speared on the spits appeared to be squirrels, and he allowed his mouth to water again.

He could see a number of people down below. Several of them walked with pronounced limps, he noted, a flash of fire in his stomach. Few, if any, looked well-groomed; men and women alike had matted, tangled hair and their clothing was mostly scraps of fabric crudely patched together with tanned leather. He squinted, looking around for any children, but the youngest there seemed to be no younger than thirteen. Still horrific, he thought, but at least there were no very young ones that he could see.

There was no sign of the hulking figure in black.

Fenrir Greyback hadn't been seen in years, he knew—the last confirmed report was back in 2012, when Jenny Ratford had been mauled to death at the age of six. But surely he was still out there, still attacking children, just going unreported, like his own attack had been...

He settled back against the trunk of the tree to wait, blending into the bark like a chameleon. As long as he didn't move too much, he'd be as good as invisible.

Stakeouts quickly went from nerve-wracking to boring, shot through with sudden intense moments of adrenaline when you remembered what you were doing, and this one was no exception. Whenever a new werewolf came into the camp, a little jolt of fear would cause his stomach to churn, but for the most part, he remained still, watching, waiting, as the sun inched across the sky.

A woodpecker landed on the branch beside him and he was temporarily distracted, watching it drill for insects, but then he refocused his attention on the camp.

He had to focus.

He had to catch Greyback.

The sun sank lower.

She could feel her back beginning to ache from the hours of sitting on the branch. The only thing that happened to pass the monotony was a fight breaking out over one of the spits; one of the werewolves had tried to steal another's food and was caught. The perpetrator was left lying on the ground, bleeding from a gash in the head. The others just stepped around him without a second glance.

If she thought the werewolves she'd been living with for the past week had been bad, these people were worse. She shook her head, watching the fallen werewolf.

How many of them might have been good people, had circumstances been different? Her fingers curled; she knew she'd been extremely fortunate, but guilt gnawed at her stomach as she remembered Christmases spent alone at Hogwarts, everyone else gone home to their families save for her, drawn by the siren song of Wolfsbane. She remembered gulping down the foul concoction and feeling sorry for herself, and she let out a quiet, bitter chuckle.

How little she'd actually known.

How lucky she'd actually been.

She wished so much that she could go back to her parents and hug them tightly, and apologize for being such a difficult child. It was because of her that they struggled to make ends meet, but even that had been a comfortable life compared to living out here in the woods.

Adrenaline jolted through her when a large, hulking figure emerged from the trees on the far side of the camp and came stomping forward to grab one of the squirrels off a spit; the other werewolves scrambled to get out of his way. She leaned forward slightly to get a better look.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with thin, wispy eyebrows and a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken several times. Scraggly facial hair grew in patches on his cheeks and chin, and he walked with a bowlegged swagger that suggested he thought very highly of himself.

Her heart sank. This was not the man who had bitten her.

But the others were obviously deferring to him as though he had status among them; perhaps he was a second in command?

"Seff!" a boy called. "How was the hunt?"

Seff tossed his bag at the boy, who stumbled back at the impact. The boy reached inside and pulled out a brace of rabbits, drawing cheers from the onlookers.

While the werewolves descended upon the rabbits, she slipped out of the tree, free-falling until she was a few feet above the ground. A slow-fall charm let her land safely, and then she was off, creeping through the forest under the cover of the werewolves' commotion.

She reached the edge of the camp and paused behind a tree, counting on the spell to mask her while she got a closer look at the situation. There were about twenty, maybe twenty-four werewolves all told, an even mix of men and women. She'd been right about the number of children, she noted with relief. But nowhere could she see the man who'd attacked her.

It was a bitter sort of relief, she reflected, leaning against the tree and reaching down to massage her knee when it twinged painfully. She'd come all this way to find him, but she still didn't think she was ready for that confrontation.

Seff seemed to be the one in charge for the time being, though. She would watch him from a distance, and when he next went into the woods alone, she would see if she could get the information she was after.


	15. Chapter 15

_**The last chapter. I hope you all enjoyed this, unhappy as it might have been from beginning to end. Thanks for sticking with it for this long.**_

* * *

Seff definitely seemed to be the werewolf in charge, she learned as she sat quietly and observed from the outside of the camp.

She could see her breath before her and she pulled the collar of her shirt up, huffing in an attempt to warm up the covered part of her face.

She'd been spoiled these last few years, she thought wryly. The flat she'd left behind had actual heating, but the tiny cottage she'd grown up in had no heating save for when they managed to get firewood. As she watched the werewolves huddle around their fire pits, her mind drifted back to her childhood.

Her earliest memory of Christmas was sitting beside their little wood-burning stove, wrapped in a blanket and huddled against her father's side while her mother read to them. Her feet were warm; she'd gotten a new pair of socks for her present that year, and they were quite large so she could grow into them. She could remember tearing off the newspaper used to wrap them, and squealing in delight when she realized she no longer had to wear her old pair.

They had cabbage soup that night, she remembered. Thin, watery broth flavored with what little salt was left in the house. But it was filling, and it was good.

Snow began to fall. They were tiny, dry, powdery flakes, not fat wet ones like at Hogwarts in winters past.

Christmases at Hogwarts were something else entirely. She could eat to her heart's content without fear of Jessica or Caitlyn slipping something into her food, though usually she'd end up making herself sick due to her stomach not being used to such richness. She had the common room entirely to herself and she could undress in her dorm without fear of being seen.

She liked going to the Great Hall to watch the teachers decorate for Christmas, and Professor Longbottom always took a moment to tell her about the plants he was using in the garlands and wreaths.

Those were really the only times she'd ever felt safe, she thought sadly. Those days were long behind her, though; now she was sitting, huddled beside a tree instead of her father, without the warmth of a fire to thaw her stiff hands. She'd cast several warming charms, but it still didn't feel like enough.

To think she would be jealous of the werewolves living in the camp right at that moment, she thought, shaking her head.

The moon rose higher overhead and the snow fell faster still. She began to nod off against the tree, occasionally jerking back to alertness when her exhausted brain remembered what she was doing.

Around midnight, a scuffle broke out beside one of the makeshift tents. She blinked awake and sat up straighter, dusting off the snow that had accumulated on her shoulders as she watched Seff Marrok come storming out of his tent to break it up. She couldn't hear most of the shouting, but from the snippets she caught, it sounded like he was about ready to throw them both out on their ear.

Her heart lurched when Seff stormed away and out of the camp, shaking his head.

Now was her chance.

She got up, stifling a groan when her knee creaked in protest, and set off after the werewolf.

A fair distance into the woods, Seff stopped, and she froze, trying to see what he was doing. A faint splattering noise reached her ears and she stopped trying to look so closely, though she did keep creeping forward. Nothing like catching her quarry with his pants down.

She quickly cast a silencing spell on Seff, and a moment later, thin, strong cords burst from the end of her wand and wrapped around him, binding his legs together and his arms to his sides. He toppled over with a silent yell and she ran up to him, grabbing his arm; they Apparated away and appeared in a clearing far enough away from the camp that they wouldn't be overheard.

Seff glared up at her, mouth opening and closing with a string of inaudible swears.

"Alright," she hissed, jabbing her wand under his chin, "I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them. Try anything, and you're a dead man."

Seff spat in her face. She flinched when the glob landed just above her eye, but she didn't move to wipe it away.

"Do I make myself _clear?_ " she growled, pressing her wand harder against his throat.

Mutely, Seff nodded.

She lifted the silencing charm and Seff coughed, still glaring at her. "Who the fuck are you, girl?"

"Where's Fenrir Greyback?" she said, her free hand grabbing him by the hair and forcing his head up.

Seff began to laugh. "Is he the one that prettied up your face, girlie?" he said.

Rage boiled inside her, and it was only through sheer force of will she kept herself from breaking his nose. "Tell me where he is!"

"How _quaint_ ," Seff said, smirking at her. "Out for revenge against your maker, are you? Not that it'll fix your ugly—"

She punched him, hard. His nose broke under her fist and he howled, blood running down his face.

" _WHERE'S FENRIR GREYBACK?_ "

"He's dead!" Seff yelled back. "He's been dead for months, you little bitch!"

"You're _lying!_ " She yanked on his hair, causing him to scream again. "Children are still being attacked, I _know_ he's behind it!"

Seff laughed, a mad glint in his eye. "Just because Fenrir's dead doesn't mean his vision died with him."

Blood roared in her ears. "His _vision?_ " she snarled. "His _vision_ of ruining children's lives?!"

"Of spreading the _gift_ ," Seff said, "of turning more to our cause, until _we_ rule, not the unbitten!"

She threw him to the ground and stood up. She cast a Patronus and sent it off to Mr. Potter with a message to come to the camp. Seff spat at her again and tried to kick her knee; she sidestepped easily and planted a foot on his stomach.

"I'm going to see you locked away in Azkaban to _rot_ ," she promised, leaning in. "You'll never hurt another person again."

* * *

The next few hours passed in a blur. She Apparated back to the camp, taking Seff with her, and left him Stunned and bound where the Aurors would find him when they arrived. That done, she faded away back into the trees to watch, sinking into a numb stupor.

She didn't have to wait long. Within half an hour, hit wizards and Aurors alike Apparated into the area and stormed the camp. Spells flew and screams filled the air, and all she could do was watch as if through a haze, blood ringing in her ears as Seff's words taunted her over and over.

 _He's dead._

 _He's been dead for months._

The words echoed in her head as one by one the werewolves were rounded up and restrained.

Someone must have cast _Homenum Revelio_ , because then Hollins was storming over to her. She didn't fight back when he bound her hands and feet and dragged her roughly by the collar back to the others.

Mr. Potter was shouting. Hollins was shouting. People were shouting and she just lay there, fallen branches digging into her side, snow melting under her and soaking into her clothes, chilling her. She felt none of it. She was just... empty.

These last few weeks had been for nothing.

Useless.

Failure.

Worthless.

 _Monster_.

Mr. Potter knelt in front of her and cut the ropes binding her wrists, and she looked up at him with dull eyes.

"Saibhir?" he said quietly, gripping her shoulder. "Saibhir, are you with me?"

She blinked slowly at him.

"Faolan?"

Her… her name. She hadn't heard it from anyone besides her parents in… years. It sounded so strange to her now.

"Yes," Faolan croaked.

"You did good work," Mr. Potter said, smiling at her. "Thank you."

* * *

Faolan sat in Mr. Potter's office, head down and shoulders hunched. She had a thick blanket wrapped around her but she was shaking—not from the cold, but from fear, as the other Aurors debriefed her. In the corner, Caitlyn sat, dutifully taking notes, her cold eyes occasionally flicking back to Faolan's face.

Faolan answered the questions in short, clipped sentences. She still felt lightheaded, like she was about ready to pass out. Ryan Bennet brought her a goblet of pumpkin juice, but she didn't drink, certain it was laced with something to make her sick, or worse.

The questions seemed to be slowing, and several Aurors drifted from the room, even as one more came in with a file.

"Everything we already had on Greyback is in there," Gertrude Giles said, handing it to Mr. Potter.

Mr. Potter nodded and pushed his glasses further up his nose, opening the file and beginning to flip through the parchments inside. "It'll be good to finally close this at last," he said. "Saibhir—thank you again."

Giles cleared her throat. "We found the ranger she mentioned," she said, eyeballing Faolan with distaste. "She's been taken to St. Mungo's."

"Thank you, Giles," Mr. Potter said, standing up and closing the file before him. "Saibhir? You're free to go. I'll send you an owl when I need you to come back in, but the rest of the week is yours. You've earned it."

Faolan nodded and managed to stand on wobbly legs; the other Aurors parted to let her through. Several of them glared at her as she passed, and she kept her eyes on her feet, unable to bear looking at anyone.

When she made it safely out of the office, she Disapparated. She had two last things to take care of.

* * *

When she arrived at St. Mungo's, she was directed with an eyeroll to the first floor. As she walked past the portraits she'd come to know only too well, she kept her head down when she heard several of them begin to tut disapprovingly.

"Never would have let a creature like _that_ live," Healer Cardea sniffed as she passed.

 _Just ignore her,_ Faolan thought to herself. _Just like you always do. Ignore the old hag._

She found the ward—the painfully familiar ward—without any trouble, but she still hesitated when she reached out to knock. How could she bear to face what she'd done?

More importantly, how could she bear to leave the ranger to learn about what she'd become on her own?

She sucked in a deep breath and knocked. There was a long pause, then a woman's voice called, "Come in."

She entered. There were only two occupants of the ward, a man on the far end who appeared to be asleep, and a woman, closer to the door. Her shoulder-length black hair was hanging limply around her face and her arm was wrapped tightly in bandages.

Too tight, Faolan noticed, and it looked like the dressings were overdue for a change. Biting back her anger, she approached hesitantly. "Accalia?" she said hesitantly. "Accalia Weylyn, right?"

Accalia nodded, watching her warily. Her eyes lingered on the mutilated face before her. "You're not a Healer," she said. "Right? Who are you?"

"Faolan. Faolan Saibhir. I'm… well, I was an Auror-in-training," Faolan said, conjuring a chair beside Accalia's bed and sitting down. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a sad smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," Accalia said. "The Healers here are rude, sloppy, completely unprofessional—" She shook her head in disbelief.

"It doesn't get any better," Faolan said, propping her elbows on her knees. "Accalia, listen, I… I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Thanks," Accalia muttered.

"I—I think I—" Faolan took a deep breath and let it out. "I think I might be the one who bit you. If not me, then one of the werewolves I was with. And I know I—"

"Wait, what," Accalia said flatly.

Faolan ducked her head, face burning with shame. "I'm a werewolf," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I was with the pack that attacked you that night. And…" Fat, hot tears began to roll down her cheeks. "I'm s-so s-s-sorry…" She buried her face in her hands, struggling to keep her sobs muted.

Accalia stared at her for a very long time, her face closed, unreadable.

Faolan finally took a deep breath and reached for the tissues on Accalia's bedside table, blowing her nose. "You didn't deserve it to happen to you, nobody does. You've s-seen what the Healers are like and it doesn't get any b-better…" She clenched the tissue in her hand. "I can't—I can't fix this, what I did to you and your dog, but I can at least try to make it easier for you… if you would let me."

Accalia was silent for a very long time, and Faolan shifted uncomfortably in her seat, half-expecting to get something thrown at her. But finally, Accalia sighed and looked away.

"Oh, what the hell," she muttered. "It's not like anyone else has come along and offered to tell me what's going on with this insanity. Wizards and werewolves and everything else, it's just…" She waved her good arm vaguely. "It's a lot to take in, and here you come and turn everything upside down again." She looked back at Faolan and sighed. "This is going way against my better judgement, but it's not like I've got many other options. So…" She tried to lift her right arm, winced, and held out her left instead.

Faolan slowly reached out and gripped Accalia's hand in her own. Accalia looked down at Faolan's hand, misshapen from malunion, then back up at her face.

"If you're anything to go by, this isn't going to be easy," Accalia said. "So… looks like you're stuck with me. Besides, if what you said is true, it sounds like you owe me big time."

Shame and relief bubbled up in Faolan's stomach, clashing together in a confusing jumble of emotion. She didn't trust herself to speak around the lump in her throat, so she simply nodded.

* * *

The world was silent and white, dead, still. Faolan stood under a tree, looking at the crudely-carved words on its trunk.

"I spent so long wondering how I would react if I ever met you," she said quietly. "If I would scream and run, if I would try to fight. I… I sought out Boggarts in the castle for practice and every time it was the same. I ran away."

Ice-cold wind blew through the trees, and their branches shivered, dumping snow on Faolan's head. She bowed her head and the snow slid off, landing on the grave at her feet.

"And then I finally thought enough was enough and came to find you, only to find out you went ahead and died before you could answer for everything you've done—!" She kicked at the snow in front of her, sending it flying. Some of it stuck to the tree, obscuring the name carved on it.

Faolan let out a heavy sigh; her breath fogged the air. "I don't even know what I thought coming out here would accomplish," she said, looking up at the sky as if hoping it held the answers she so desperately wanted. "It would give me closure, I guess?" She shook her head. "I should be happy right now. I'm not going to Azkaban and Hollins and Caitlyn are getting sacked, but… I bit someone. I came out here to stop that from happening to anyone else and I just contributed to our kind's reputation. I _RUINED_ SOMEONE'S _LIFE!_ " Her shout was swallowed by the swiftly rising blanket of snow.

"You'd be so proud of me if you were here," she said bitterly, shoving her hands in her pockets. "Congratulations. At least one of us got what they wanted. You win. You fucking win."

She stood there for a moment longer, trying to find something else to say. The words wouldn't come, and her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Her cloak swirled around her as she turned on the spot and Disapparated, leaving the grave of Fenrir Greyback to be buried under the snow.

 _The End._


End file.
